


130lbs of Ukrainian Courage

by RedStarFiction



Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Cute Yevgeny, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Fluff, Gen, Ian Gallagher & Mandy Milkovich Friendship, Love, M/M, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Protective Ian Gallagher, Protective Mickey Milkovich, Protectiveness, Shameless
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-01-06 04:15:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 55,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12203700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedStarFiction/pseuds/RedStarFiction
Summary: This story was prompted by @lethal-wisdom over on Tumblr and will be another multi-chapter.It is set with the premise that Mickey and Ian managed to work everything out in Season 5 - no prison, no proper break-up.The prompt was Mickey and/or Ian being protective in the face of Terry and this fic is centred around a traumatic event that occurs early on in the work. Trigger warnings do apply but please be aware this is not a piece in which Gallavich fail. They are wonderful and strong and so brave, both of them, and that is what I hope to convey here. Fluff and smut in places too. Thank you for reading.





	1. Chapter 1

“Mick, come on. It wasn’t his fault.”

Ian’s hand on Mickey’s arm is firm and his eyes are almost pleading. This stuff is taken seriously in the Milkovich/Gallagher household but normally there is some wiggle room! Mickey’s gaze flicks between his boyfriend and his son, who is also looking at him with an expression of shocked disbelief. The three of them have been here many times before, Yev knows he normally gets away with too much but Papa has never been this tough on him and neither Yev nor Ian, is sure if Mickey means to follow through with it or not. Mickey raises his eyebrows with an impatient expression and gestures to Yevgeny.

“He knows the rules … you know the rules, right?”

“Yes Papa.”

Yevgeny nods and nibbles his lip anxiously. Ian’s shoulders sag a little, he’s sheltered Yev from as much as he can tonight but things have been building up and as Mickey leans forward Ian knows he can’t prevent what is about to happen. Mickey cricks his neck left and right and then fixes Yev with an intent blue stare.

“You know this is the right thing, Yev.”

The little kid nods and sets his shoulders, readying himself.

“Okay then,”

Mickey adjusts himself on his chair, takes a breath and says

“You landed on my Boardwalk and I got 3 houses sitting pretty on that bitch! I want $1,400 cold, hard cash!”

Mickey punctuates each of the last three words with a distinct tap on the Monopoly board. It is family game night and he is taking no prisoners.

“I’ve only got $1000.”

Yev looks at the little pile of monopoly money in front of him pitifully but Mickey only shrugs.

“Then you are shit out of luck.”

“Mick!”

Ian frowns at his boyfriend but Yev doesn’t seem to notice, he is busy trying to think of a way out of the mess his dice roll has landed him in.

“Can’t I owe you?”

“Are you kidding me? You already owe me like, $5000! Nah, man. Cut your losses and call it a night.”

“Can Dad pay it for me?”

Yev looks hopefully to Ian who opens his mouth to respond but Mickey beats him to it.

“Not a chance. You’re in debt up to your eyeballs, you sold all your land and …”

Mickey glances up at the kitchen clock

“It’s past your bedtime. You’re out buddy.”

Yev plucks at a stray thread on his sweater for a moment, studying the board in front of him as if a pile of cash might suddenly appear. When nothing materialises, he huffs back in his chair and crosses his arms irritably.

“Shit.”

For once Ian doesn’t scold Yev about his language, he is too wrapped up in just how adorably like Mickey Yev looks when he is in a sulk - all lowered eyebrows and clenched fists.

“Don’t pout! It was a tough break on the dice, but I warned you about buying all those crappy little places and not building on them. You owned like half the board but it wasn’t worth anything.”

Mickey lectures as he stretches and stands up, judiciously ignoring the heavy-duty eye roll his son gives him.

“But you always get the good ones!”

He whines as Papa grabs his empty cocoa mug and ruffles Yev's hair fondly.

“Cause you never want to spend your money on them when they’re there for the taking. Live and learn, kiddo.”

Mickey shoots back, turning to the sink and tiptoeing slightly to fling the top window open, a cigarette already dangling from his lips ready to be lit. Yev kneels up on the kitchen chair, sticking his tongue out at his Papa’s back in response.

Ian tugs his sweater, pulling him gently back down before Mickey catches him.

“You heard your Papa, it’s late, time for bed.”

“OK. Can I have a piggy back tonight, Dad?”

Yev asks perking up instantly as Ian smiles indulgently

“Sure Mini Milk.”

Ian stifles a groan as he stands, his back protesting the movement after being hunched over the board for too long but he obligingly shuffles round the table to squat in front of Yevgeny so that he can climb up. Mickey leans back against the sink, angling his exhalations of smoke toward the open window, watching his boys together before sauntering over, boosting Yev a little higher on Ian’s back and bumping fists with the little boy.

“Good night Yev, sleep well.”

“You too, Papa.”

Yev leans over Ian’s shoulder to place a kiss on his father’s cheek and Ian carries him off. Mickey can hear them pretending to be charging past dragons or whatever the game is tonight and gets himself another beer from the fridge.

*

Mickey makes Yev’s packed lunch for the next day, re-fills Ian’s pill boxes and then fastens the clips and put’s a banana on top as a reminder for Ian to eat first. He waits five more minutes and then decides to go and make sure Yev isn’t wheedling another story out of his soft-touch Dad. Mickey wouldn’t call himself a hard-ass but Ian would make Mary Poppins look like a case for Child Protective Services with the way he treats the kid when it’s their turn to have him.

Mickey gets to the top of the stairs and can hear the low rumble of Ian’s voice. The hallway is dark but there is a soft yellow glow coming from Yevgeny’s room and the door is ajar letting the light spill across the tired old carpet.

Mickey edges a little closer, avoiding the creaky floorboards and slides his back down the wall, sitting on the floor beside Yev’s door, letting the sounds of domesticity wash over him. He doesn’t do it often … well … anytime that Ian is reading to Yev actually, but most times Mickey just wanders in and sits on the bed with them, toying with Ian’s hair and letting Yev snuggle into his chest.

Sometimes though it is nice to sit on the outside looking in, observing the way they are and letting Ian’s voice sooth him. Being on the outside of love is never hard when you know you have only to step through a door and be completely welcomed by it.

“…The walls were wet and sticky, and peach juice was dripping from the ceiling. James opened his mouth and caught some of it on his tongue. It tasted delicious…” 

Ah. James and the Giant Peach again. Mickey smiles to himself. Yevgeny fucking loves that story and Ian is the best at telling it. He does all the different voices for Yev and never gets confused about which voice is for Grasshopper and which is for Ladybird. Mickey enjoys reading it too but the first time he was left to do the opening chapters, he got so mad about the two old spinster bitches that James got stuck with; that he completely derailed story time. By the time Ian came up, he found Mickey and Yev in earnest conversation about whether or not drowning them in peach juice would be fair.

Mickey sips his beer and listens to Ian tell the story, a faint smile on his lips. Every now and then Yev pipes up with a question or an observation and Mickey wonders, not for the first time, if the gentle squeezing in his chest as he eavesdrops is the schmaltzy feeling that movies are always saying family should bring. He thinks it must be because it doesn’t seem possible that he could be much fuller with love than he is now. Mickey closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall. One day, he thinks, he is going to get Ian to read something aloud just for him.

*

Ian steps out into the hallway and eases Yev’s bedroom door shut. A faint snore by his left foot is the only thing that stops him tripping over Mickey’s sleeping form and Ian carefully feels for the light switch before moving any further. The bulb in the hall is dim and really needs changing but it does well enough. Mickey is sat against the wall, head tipped back and legs splayed out in front like a drunk.

Ian has a momentary urge to scoop him up into his arms and carry him through to their bedroom but he knows that he’ll be in trouble in the morning if he does.

“Hey…Mick…Babe, it’s time for bed.”

Ian crouches and gently shakes Mickey’s shoulder. He wakes with a grunt and hastily swipes a hand across his face, trying to brush away the tendrils of sleep that cling to him.

“Wha’ time isst?”

“Nearly eleven.”

Ian helps him up and pulls Mickey gently against his chest, wrapping his arms around him, closing his eyes as he inhales the wonderful, familiar scent. God! Ian still loves the way Mickey Milkovich smells.

“Did James make it?”

“It got a bit bumpy but I’m sure he’s going to be fine.”

It’s become a running joke between them, they are so familiar with the story and it’s twists and turns and ups and downs. Mickey yawns against Ian’s shirt and smiles, pulling back and stepping round him to get to the bathroom.

“Damn. I’m beat!”

He pulls at his face lightly, looking into the mirror almost accusingly as if it is his smudged reflections fault.

“Whipping a seven year old at Monopoly is tiring.”

Ian smirks sardonically, smoothing Mickey’s ruffled hair back and kissing the shell of his ear.

“He’s gotta learn! You can’t just let him win all the damn time.”

“Yeah but you don’t have to go so hard either.”

Mickey begins scrubbing his teeth and pauses to spit toothpaste into the sink and point his toothbrush knowingly at Ian’s reflection.

“I’m just sayin’, if the kid can’t handle losing a game to his dads he is gonna be one hell of a fucked up adult.”

“You told him to go sell his mother!”

Ian says and laughs at the guilty grimace Mickey makes before rinsing his mouth

“Yeah, no, I maybe got a bit carried away there … you heard me tell him I meant sell her to the circus though right? That’s probably fine … yeah, you know what, it is definitely fine… the circus is fine.”

Mickey flaps a hand dismissively, a limp wristed gesture that makes Ian suck his cheeks in trying not to laugh. Mickey shrugs out of his black button down, chucking it into ‘laundry corner’ before doing the same with his pants. Neither go in the basket and Mickey makes no effort to correct that.

Ian rolls his eyes and pulls Mickey hard against him.

“Svet is going to kill you one day.”

“Nah, she likes having her weekends too much. We have the kid, she tickles her tonsils with rich old dude dick for cash. Everyone is happy.”

“Shhh!”

“Eh! He can’t hear me!”

“I’m gonna wash your mouth out one of these days.”

“With soap or somthin’ saltier?”

Mickey teases, eyes lit with mischief and Ian gives him a narrow, green eyed stare that would quell a lesser man. Mickey pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek a couple of times, distorting it suggestively and Ian takes a rapid, two handed grip on Mickey’s ass, hoisting him upwards.

“Right that’s it!”

Ian grunts as Mickey’s legs wrap around his hips and Ian staggers out of the bathroom and into their bedroom, crashing down on the bed with a thump that makes Ian glad Yev is as much of a deep sleeper as his Papa.

“Yeah, tough guy? You gonna set me straight?”

Mickey is in full playful mode now, kicking Ian affectionately in the ass with the heel of his foot, tiredness forgotten.

“Take more power than I have to make you straight.”

Ian quips as he tries to wrestle Mickey into submission beneath him.

“Fuck you!”

Mickey laughs, managing to twist away from Ian and getting him into a headlock briefly before Ian burrows his way out. Ian has no idea how Mickey manages to get so damn flexible when they scrap but he can’t seem to keep a hold of him and amidst the breathless, quiet laugher, Mickey snaps his hips forward, flipping Ian over onto his back and pinning his arms over his head with a triumphant smirk.

“Monopoly and naked wrestling, your two greatest skills.”

Ian sighs against Mickey’s hair as his conqueror kisses gently along Ian’s flushed neck and shoulders.

“Southside education, man: Handling dirty cash and fighting dirty men.”

Mickey mumbles and Ian sniffs at his own armpit self-consciously

“I’m not dirty!”

“Not yet. Get me warmed up and get in me, Firecrotch.”

Mickey grins, releasing Ian’s arms and then letting out a happy yelp as Ian surges up and bears Mickey over, covering his body with his own and running his hands over every available inch of skin.

Ian lifts his face from Mickey’s collarbone to scout out the lube and Mickey catches his jaw, cradling it between faintly calloused palms and bringing Ian’s gaze level with his own.

“I love you.”

The words are delivered with the usual quick intensity but there is something in Mickey’s face that slows Ian’s blood from the furious pulsing race of arousal to a calmer rhythm. He lets his fingers glide up from Mickey’s hips, trailing through his thick, black hair; taking some of his weight onto his elbows, simply lying skin to skin, looking at each other.

“I love you too.”

Ian gives him a quirky, lopsided smile and nudges his nose against Mickeys. Ian does not realise it but he has a regular way of saying it too, the emphasis is placed differently. Where Mickey emphasises the word ‘love’, Ian emphasises the word ‘you’. Each of them subconsciously tapping into the deepest needs of the other and providing all the shelter and sustenance that such words can provide.

They make love gently, reverently, only breaking eye contact at the last as they bury their faces in each other’s necks to smother their cries, both of them overcome and utterly spent.

“You know, we’ve been together nearly ten years.”

Mickey murmurs as they lay entwined, each edging toward sleep. Ian kisses the back of his neck and smiles blearily.

“Only about 8 if we’re going officially.”

“Yeah but … you should do it off love not words, right?”

Mickey kisses their linked fingers and nestles himself closer against Ian despite the warmth of the room.

“Okay.”

Ian’s voice is heavy with sleep and Mickey doesn’t say anything else, not wanting to disturb him, but in the quiet of their room, he begins to think about how significant it is that he has spent a decade loving the same person. He’s loved Ian since they were kids and not many people can say that. Hell, Mickey never thought he would be able to say that! Everything they’ve been through … if they can survive all that, then they can survive anything and maybe it is about time they did something more about it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday fluffffffff!!!!!! YAY! xxx

The sound of Mario wailing as he tumbles from the Rainbow Road into the abyss wakes Mickey the next morning. The light creeping around the edges of the tattered blue curtains is pale and cold, meaning it is far too fucking early for Mario to be falling off any road or castle or whatever.

Mickey tries folding the pillow over his ears to muffle to sound but if anything, it gets louder. Yevgeny has clearly decided that the lack of paternal presence interrupting his game means it isn’t a problem and turned the volume up.

Ian is still asleep; his breathing deep and even against Mickey’s bare shoulder and it is the only thing that keeps him from bellowing from the comfort of their bed. With a mumbled curse, Mickey gets up and plods toward the living room, pausing to tug on some sweatpants and a crumpled vest.

The volume drops the further down the stairs Mickey gets and is practically mute by the time he sets eyes on his son, who is gazing angelically up at him from the floor.

“Hey Papa.”

“Don’t you ‘Hey Papa’ me; do you know what time it is?”

“Early.”

Yev hedges and Mickey raises his eyebrows a fraction, prompting a more accurate answer.

“Too early.”

Yev amends and Mickey nods. Good enough.

“Exactly, so why are you outta bed?”

“Bad dream.”

Yev shrugs. Ian uses the same single shoulder twitch when he is a little unsure of how much Mickey actually wants to know about something and clearly Yev has picked it up which actually makes Mickey feel a little guilty. He reaches the foot of the stairs, pushing his tousled hair backward out of his eyes. Yev scrambles to his feet and stands awkwardly in front of the TV as the characters continue to replay their victories and losses on the screen behind him. 

Annoyed as he is, Mickey pads across the room and drops down onto the sofa, patting his knee.

“Alright. Tell me.”

Yev plonks himself on his father’s lap, gratefully inhaling the familiar comforting scent of him. He lifts one of Mickey’s arms, draping it around his shoulders and a little of Mickey’s irritation dissipates as he gives Yev a small reassuring squeeze.

“Well I don’t remember much but there were sharks.”

Mickey stifles a groan but manages a faint sympathetic noise. He had let Yev watch Shark Week re-runs the last time he was off school sick and it seems to have made a lastingly awful impression on the kid.

“There are no sharks in Chicago except in those …”

Mickey fumbles for the word in his sleep deprived mind and gives up

“…water-zoos.”

“Aquariums.”

Yev confirms and Mickey nods, yawning. It is far too fuckin’ early. Water zoo? Thank fuck Ian hadn’t heard that one. Mickey would have been getting shit about it for weeks.

“Right. And, hey, you know what you can get in China Town?”

“Sweet knock-offs?”

Yev answers a little uncertainly. Caught off guard, Mickey laughs loudly, a rich, unexpected sound that makes Yev smile too.

“Yeah, no, you can get those but you can also get something called shark fin soup. Humans are the top predator, kid and we make soup outta those fuckin’ sharks.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Ukrainians – we eat a lot of cabbage. Irish, like your Dad, a lot of fuckin’ potatoes. Like, a LOT, it’s their whole thing. The Chinese though? Fuckin’ sharks buddy. Don’t mess with the Chinese.”

“You don’t eat cabbage!”

Yev giggles, imagining his Papa trying to make his way through a big plate of the gross purple vegetable Mama sometimes cooks.

“Nah, you’re right. That stuff sucks. But you get the point?”

Mickey asks, seriously hoping Yev does because Mickey himself seems to have lost it somewhere between water-zoo and potatoes.

“Yes Papa.”

Yev yawns and tucks his head under Mickey’s chin, small arms wrapping around his neck.

“Good. Let’s get you back to bed.”

Mickey stands, lifting Yevgeny with him, placing a quick kiss on his forehead and smoothing dark offshoots of hair into some semblance of order.

“Can’t I just stay down here?”

“No. You could have if you hadn’t woken me up with that noisy damn game. Next time keep the volume down.”

Mickey scolds but his heart isn’t in it and Yev just blinks at him, blue eyes large and round in the semi-dark as Mickey stoops to turn the TV off.

“Can I come in with you and Dad?”

“No!”

“Please?”

“No.”

Mickey repeats flatly, stubbornly ignoring the way Yev’s arms tighten around his neck.

“But I’m little, like you! I take up hardly any room and you won’t even know I’m there.”

Mickey pauses mid-step and arches one contemptuous eyebrow at his son who quickly dips his head, burying his face in Mickey’s neck with a giggle.

“Don’t make me kick your tiny ass! One, I am not ‘little’, I’m average fuckin’ height! Two, you take up all the room cause you fling your arms out like a starfish and three … well I can’t fuckin’ remember three because it’s basically the middle of the night and I shouldn’t even be awake right now.”

As Mickey grumbles, Yev snorts loudly into the crook of his Papa’s neck, trying not to actually laugh during his telling off. Mickey puts his tongue between his teeth with a long-suffering grimace. Sometimes he wonders why he even bothers telling Yevgeny off at all, the kid is as bad as Ian is for not taking his moodiness seriously. Mickey waits patiently for Yev get a grip before continuing up the stairs and heading for Yev’s room.

“Paappaaaa.”

Yev gives a small whine as they pass by his fathers’ bedroom door. Mickey rolls his eyes, not bothering to respond. Even if Ian wasn’t butt-naked in there, Yev was getting to be too old to be brought in with them. Mickey hadn’t slept in his own dad’s bed in his life, except for that time he and his brother’s dragged the old man upstairs blind-drunk and Iggy thought it’d be funny to push Terry on top of Mickey, flattening him to the bed until Terry rolled over. Asshole. There was a pleasant fuckin’ memory right there! Two hundred pounds of bristles, flabby chest and stale breath on top of him for nearly an hour. Jesus!

Mickey deposits Yev on his bed and stands back, folding his arms across his chest sternly as the kid pouts. Yev gives one last ditch attempt at emotional manipulation but he knows it won’t work even as he tries it.

“What if someone steals me?”

“Don’t worry, they’ll bring you back soon as you start yapping.”

Mickey teases and then relents when Yev scowls up at him. He pulls back the blanket, gently coercing Yevgeny beneath it with practised ease.

“Come on, no one messes with the Milkovich family and no one will ever hurt my boys. Not while I’m around. You know that.”

Yev nods sulkily, he does know that. Even Mama, who sometimes says that Papa is full of shit when she thinks Yev can’t hear her, knows that this is true and has told him so.

“Get some sleep.”

Mickey raises his eyes to the ceiling as he patiently kisses the top of Yev’s head, one large hand gently cupping the back of the kid’s neck. Yevgeny huffs onto his side but obediently closes his eyes.

Mickey wanders back to his room, scratching his ass and yawning widely. Kids, man. Even the one that he actually likes is a pint-sized pain in the ass! ‘I’m little, like you’ Mickey silently mimics the words and wrinkles his nose. He pauses by the bathroom and stretches up to Ian’s pull-up bar. His fingertips graze the metal but he has to do a small jump to actually grip it. Fuck sake.

He does a couple of reps, working his shoulders and clenching his ass and then drops back down, secretly hoping that Svetlana’s long-legged DNA doesn’t come roaring in at puberty. All he needs is a lanky version of himself strutting around the place.

He finds a pair of boxers on the floor, sniffs them and determines they’ll do until morning and crouches down beside Ian.

“Hey … Hey Sleepy Face, sorry to be a dick but you gotta put these on.”

Ian blinks at his boyfriend, glowers at the boxers, and puts his face back into the pillow.

“Go away.”

“Sorry man, but you got nine inches of Red Wood on display and we’re probably gonna have company in about five minutes.”

“Ugh.”

Ian groans and reluctantly lifts his head up again. Mickey gives him an encouraging smile and lets the underwear hang from his index finger until Ian takes them and begins to clumsily wrestle them on.

“Atta boy.”

Mickey ruffles his hair and clambers over Ian to flop onto his side of the bed, settling on his back and gathering the redhead onto his chest. Ian mutters something and Mickey squints down at him fondly

“What’s that Mumbles?”

“Was it that shark week dream again?”

“Nah, it was something else. I think he’s over the shark thing now.”

Mickey has been scolded so many times over that show he doesn’t even feel guilty about the lie. Ian drapes one long arms across Mickey’s body and sighs contentedly, already slipping back into sleep.

A few minutes later Mickey hears the door creep open and closes his eyes, letting his breathing slow and deepen, feigning sleep.

The bed jostles slightly as Yev clambers on and peering through carefully lowered lashes, Mickey sees one small hand come up and rest on Ian’s shoulder as Yev cuddles up. He might not be willing to carry Yev into their room but Mickey secretly doesn’t mind Yev curling up with them as long as he gets to maintain that he doesn’t condone it and he closes his eyes again, smiling.

*

By the time Ian’s alarm goes off at 8am, he finds himself sandwiched between two Milkovichs. One curled on the edge of the mattress, the other spread-eagled across half the bed. He snaps the picture on his iPhone before carefully scooping Yevgeny up and carrying him through to his own bed. Ian knows how Mick feels about their kid sharing their bed.

Ian eats the banana on top of his pillbox and drops the skin in the trash, making sure it is visible on top because Mickey will check for it, and then fiercely deny he is checking for it if he has to look too closely to spot it.

Ian loves the quiet mornings in their home. Only two blocks away from the street he grew up on but it feels like a world away. The kitchen is set up how Mickey likes it as he does most of the cooking but the coffee machine is Ian’s baby and it is exactly as he wants it to be. The filter papers are neatly stacked to the left, the coffee scoop perched on top of the machine and the little brush he uses to clean it sits in a glass to the right.

Coffee used to be Mickey’s thing too, when they first moved in not long after Ian’s cocktail of medication was finally perfected. He would go and make it whilst Ian’s body adjusted to the morning dose and then carry it upstairs to him and they would drink it in bed together. However, Ian found the trembling in his hands lasted longer if he didn’t have something to do with them, so he took over coffee duty. Carrying the mugs upstairs was a bit of a bitch if he got the shakes badly and after the third time Mickey came downstairs to find Ian frantically scrubbing the new carpet, he announced that he preferred his coffee downstairs.

“I’m not some loft-apartment asshole who wants to read the tabloids with an ex-presso. I like to sit at the table like a normal person.”

It wasn’t the most romantic couple story in the world but it was the longest running little domestic routine Ian and Mickey had so it held a very special place in Ian’s heart.

Ian smiles to himself thinking about those early days. He had wanted to keep everything pristine and Mickey, completely bowled over by the level of freedom their own place afforded them, had wanted to fuck on every possible square inch of property. Ian remembers the first day they woke up together in their home. Mickey had spent the entire morning naked. He made coffee naked, ate breakfast naked and helped Ian unpack the boxes left over from the day before, naked.

“The neighbours are going to get so well acquainted with your ass.”

“What do I care? Nosy fucks. C’mere, I want to Christen the closet next.”

“But I just organised it!”

“I’ll re-colour code it for you later.”

“It’s not colour coded, it’s just …”

“Come. Here. Now.”

Ian had been terrified about moving in with Mickey. They’d come within inches of breaking up after he took off with Monica. Ian had actually tried to break up with Mickey on the steps of the Gallagher house. Mickey had listened and argued and then listened again, his fists clenched and eyes misting over. He had looked at Ian with so much hurt and confusion and Ian knew his face mirrored Mickey’s own but he hadn’t known how to stop the awful rollercoaster he seemed to have put them on.

“Go home, Mickey.”

“You are my fuckin’ home.”

Mickey’s voice had cracked slightly, lifting and breaking on the word ‘you’ and Ian had never heard a worse sound in his life.

“You sound like a fucking queer.”

Ian had spat those words at him and he shuddered at the memory now. He had been trying so hard to make Mickey angry enough to leave him, trying to force his hand. It had partially worked. It made Mickey angry but rather than walking away, he had stormed up the steps and got right in Ian’s face, not touching him but close enough that Ian could see that his eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and the faint creases in his brow had deepened from weeks and months of strain.

“Well guess what, fuckhead? I am fuckin’ queer. I came out for you – you made me come out for you! Now you think I’m gonna let you tank this thing cause you don’t feel well? No. Fuck you! You’re not doing that to me.”

“Fuck off!”

Ian had pushed him and Mickey had wrapped a fist in his shirt, dragging Ian backwards with him as they hit the railing and refusing to let go even as they grappled for balance.

“Get the fuck off me! Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you.”

“You don’t!”

“I fucking do! Whatever this is, it isn’t about me not loving you and you are not putting that shit on me. I’m here, bitch and I ain’t going anywhere.”

Mickey had finally let go of him with a look of such cold fury that Ian’s insides turned to jelly and Ian had stormed inside slamming the door behind him. Mickey had stayed. He had simply sat on the steps and waited. He waited there for over an hour until Ian came back and slumped down beside him ready to talk. Mickey had lit a cigarette and handed it over silently.

“I don’t want to take the pills.”

“Fine. We’ll find another way.”

“You can’t spend your life taking care of me, Mickey”

“Uh… yeah. I can.”

“I stole your baby! I’m probably crazy!”

“Meh. Babies are overrated; you can keep him if you want?”

Ian had laughed and then, completely exhausted, he had started crying. Mickey had pulled his head down onto his shoulder, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and just let him get it all out.

“I want you, Ian, crazy or not. Don’t care.”

“Why?”

“You fuckin’ deaf as well? How many times do I gotta say it? I love you, asshole.”

*

The coffee machine gurgles and spits out the last of the batch bringing Ian out of his reverie. He blinks and glances down at his hands, a little shaky but not so bad. The bathroom door closes upstairs and loud, tuneless humming floats down to Ian as he pours two mugs.

“Mornin’.”

“Good morning. Shit! You look exhausted!”

“Thank you very much, just the comment I needed.”

Mickey grumbles accepting his coffee and giving Ian a quick kiss on the shoulder as he leans around him to pick up his cigarettes. He slips the film sleeve off and rather than leaving it on the side as usual, casually moves over to the bin, peering in before depositing his trash.

Evidently, satisfied that the banana peel is in there and at least someone in this house listens to him some of the time, Mickey lets go of his morning grouch and smiles

“Good coffee this morning.”

“Yeah? I added nutmeg!”

Ian beams proudly and although Mickey has no idea what nutmeg is, he nods approvingly.

“Nice.”

He scratches his nose and shifts his weight awkwardly from foot to foot, leaning back against the counter top and eyeing Ian curiously

“Uh …Do we have, like, an anniversary or something?”

Ian snorts and smirks at him mischievously

“Um … do you think you would have let me have an anniversary? You don’t even like your birthday.”

Mickey gives Ian a deadpan look that says Ian is not as funny as he thinks he is

“Just ‘cause I don’t like something doesn’t mean you haven’t done it.” 

“True. It’s 4th July.”

“What? We didn’t get together in July.”

“It’s symbolic! The American day of Freedom! So … unless you remember the actual date…”

Ian plucks some fluff from the wild riot that is Mickey’s quiff in the morning. He loves the way his hair seems to explode in every direction before he has a chance to tame it with wax.

“You’re so gay.”

Mickey grins, draining his coffee cup and lighting his first cigarette of the day, grin widening as Ian punches his arm lightly.

“Why are you asking anyway?”

Ian tries to pluck the smoke from Mickey’s fingers but Mickey waves him off, not yet ready to surrender it

“Hey! Get your own!”

“I just want a pull. Cutting back.”

“Again? Jesus. You were a bundle of joy the last time you did that.”

Mickey lowers his brows in exasperation but surrenders the cigarette to Ian all the same.

“You could do it with me?”

“Oh sure, that’ll help keep this house a happy home.”

Mickey opens his eyes wide in disbelief of how dumb his partner can be sometimes. He pours another coffee for himself and tops Ian up as well.

“So? Come on. Why are you asking about anniversaries?”

Ian lays the cigarette in the waiting ashtray, ignoring Mickey’s outreached hand and subsequent grunt of irritation, and pulls his boyfriend into his arms, locking his wrists around the small of his back. Ian lets his hand dip low to cup one of Mickey’s cheeks in his hand and makes a small noise of appreciation at the back of his throat.

“I just wanted to know. That OK with you?”

“Yes,”

Ian grips the swell of flesh a little tighter and looks down at Mickey happily

“You really do have a perfect butt.”

“Thank you, Captain Grab-Ass. Mind if I finish my smoke now?”

Mickey says dryly, his demeanour a little gruff as it always is when Ian compliments him.

“When Yev goes home, I think we should run a bath.”

Mickey smiles and tiptoes to kiss Ian’s chin

“You gonna knee me in the face again?”

Ian scowls at him but Mickey is grinning, clearly amused and Ian grudgingly answers

“No. You can get out first this time. I just thought …”

“…It would be nice to towel me off. I know. And it was! You mopped up the blood real nicely.”

“Fuck off!”

Ian can’t help but laugh as he shoves the ashtray back towards Mickey who picks up his half-finished cigarette cheerfully and wanders in the direction of the stairs, the subject of their anniversary established but questioning neatly dodged and only a couple of months away too! Perfect!

Mickey is in a considerably good mood as he bounces up the stairs loading the Mario theme tune on his phone to wake Yevgeny. Fuckin’ perfect!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shamelessly4shameless over on Tumblr for those of you who use both sites and have asked :) 
> 
> Thank you for following my work, Han xxx

Svetlana pulls up outside the old house and sets her cigarette in the cars ashtray. She checks her reflection in the mirror and reapplies her lipstick. She does not need to do this, the house contains two homosexuals and her son but she likes to look her best at all times and what little charm she wields over Mickey will come in handy today.

She presses the doorbell and smiles at the excited cry of ‘Mama!’ that comes from somewhere inside a moment before the door is flung open and Yevgeny crashes into her middle, hugging her tightly.

“Hello sweet one! Ah! You get bigger every day! I have missed you very much.”

Svetlana wraps her arms around him and peppers his dark hair with kisses. She had hoped the blonde hair he was born with would stick but alas, he appears to be becoming as dark and short as his father is. One cannot have everything though.

“Hey.”

Mickey appears from the kitchen and she sees his eyes flick over her carefully made-up lips and lifted breasts, appraising but not in the least bit lustful and a twinge of something that Svetlana refuses to call regret, catches her.

“You goin’ out or something?”

“No. I dress up for myself and for my most wonderful man only.”

She smooths Yevgeny’s hair as she says this and he looks up at her with the simple adoration of small children. Mickey frowns and purses his lips

“You’ll give him a complex.”

“Two fathers? He is already complexed.”

“That doesn’t make any … you know what? Doesn’t matter. You coming in?”

Mickey is holding the door open in invitation and Svetlana is grateful. Things will go smoother if he is in a good mood and he clearly is. He looks tired but healthy, she had been worried he would get fat when he and Carrot made a nest together but if anything, he is leaner than he used to be. Most likely drinking a little less.

“Please.”

Svetlana detaches Yevgeny, who barrels back into the house past his Papa to resume a video game with his Dad.

“I like your shirt. Blue is a nice colour on you.”

Mickey glances down at the fitted t-shirt he is wearing and back to Svetlana. His look of patient good humour instantly replaced with watchfulness. Shit! She has played too nicely.

“Your pants look awful though. Too tight on your ass.”

His expression softens and Svetlana thinks, not for the first time, that he really is the most peculiar man she has ever encountered. Not all bad by any means, but so very strange.

“You want a coffee?”

“No, thank you. I will not stay long.”

“Hi Svet!”

Ian waves from the living room, craning his head over the back of the sofa.

“Hi.”

She smiles and watches as Yevgeny bounces all over Ian in sudden excitement over something the blue hedgehog is doing on screen.

“I’m gonna win, Mama!”

He yells and Svetlana laughs, happy to see him so happy.

“Good luck!”

She calls and follows Mickey into the kitchen, which is always agreeably clean. A world apart from the house they shared together when Yevgeny was a baby. Terry’s house was always filthy, even when Terry wasn’t in it. Carrot is clearly a good influence in some ways.

Mickey is drumming his fingers against his leg and doing that fucking annoying thing of chewing the inner corner of his lip. Svetlana things it makes him look like a retarded chiwawa. It also probably means he has either done or is about to do, something stupid. She sets her face into a mask of readiness and folds her arms.

“What foolishness have you done?”

Mickey’s expression changes to his familiar look of long-suffering contempt for the world and Svetlana relaxes a little.

“I haven’t done shit! Why the fuck you asking me … and get that look off your face! You’re his Mom not mine.”

Mickey rolls his shoulders and scratches his upper lip with his thumb.

“Fine, you have done nothing. What is it then?”

Mickey peers over her shoulder before stepping forward furtively

“I just … I wanted to ask you if we’re … you know … if we’re properly divorced?”

His voice is low and eye contact is urgent and swift. Svetlana sighs and smiles

“Yes, you signed. I signed. We are divorced. You are planning to re-marry a new whore?”

“No … yeah … maybe. Not a whore. Don’t say anything, Okay?”

Svetlana’s eyes open wide in surprise and she claps her hands, clasping them before her chest delightedly

“You are planning a proposal for Carrot?!”

“Shhh… keep your fuckin’ voice down!”

Mickey snaps although Svetlana has in fact been whispering so low even he can barely hear her. Svet cups his anxious face fondly between her hand and kisses his lips exuberantly

“Good for you.”

“Ugh. Never do that again. Jesus.”

Mickey pulls away, roughly rubbing the lipstick from his mouth but there are two high spots of colour in his cheeks and he is clearly at least a little pleased by her reaction. Svetlana’s smile disappears as suddenly as it bloomed and she steps back from him.

“I have news that is not as good.”

“What?”

Mickey is still faffing with his mouth, trying to ensure all traces of crimson have been removed and Svetlana takes advantage of his distraction, taking a deep breath before saying

“Yevegny will not be coming to stay next weekend.”

“No? Why not?”

Mickey glances up and Svetlana sighs heavily

“He is going to meet his grandfather.”

Mickey grins and raises his eyebrows in surprise

“No shit? Your Dad’s coming state side? I always kinda thought he was dead!”

Svet presses her lips together and shakes her head sharply

“Not my father. Yours. Terry is being released and he wishes to meet Yevgeny.”

She watches the colour slowly drain from Mickey’s face and the intrigued smile falter and then disappear.

“Fuck.”

The word comes out in a hushed whisper. Fear is written plainly across his features and it makes him look younger, more like the boy she first met.

Mickey stares at her for a moment and then drives his fist painfully down onto the counter top, a jagged, reflexive movement that Svetlana expected. It is good to release tension swiftly, and she knows that this is how men like Mickey tend to do it.

“FUCK!”

“OK in there?”

Ian’s voice carries back to them and the initial tug of fear in Mickey’s heart freezes into a lump of cold terror.

“Dropped something.”

His voice sounds like it’s coming from far away as he answers Ian and kicks the door shut. He closes his eyes to try and blot out the images swirling through his head.

A dusty old car pulling up outside the house …

Ian, alone and unprotected, eating cereal over the sink …

A knock at the deep blue door Ian painted so carefully…

Ian setting his breakfast aside with a cheerful expression, ready to welcome a guest, and going unsuspectingly to the door …

Svetlana lays her hand gently on top of Mickey’s fist but he snatches it away, turning his back on her and pressing the heels of his hands against his closed eyes, trying to maintain control.

“When does he get out?”

“Friday. He will come with Yevgeny and I to the park and then he will head to Canada to stay with your uncle.”

“What?”

Mickey comes back to reality a little at this. Yevgeny. Terry is making a beeline straight for the kid for fuck knows what shitty reason but it sure as Hell isn’t a game of catch in the park. Mickey shakes his head tersely.

“No! Fuck no! Don’t let him near Yevgeny! Jesus, Svet.”

“Geny is his only grandson. He says he wishes to give him some money, for college.”

Despite the absolute horror churning in his brain, Mickey can’t help but laugh a little at that.

“You think you know my Dad? If you had the first clue about him, you’d know that he thinks college is for fags, pussies and clever fucks in need of a beat down. There is no way he wants Yevgeny in college.”

Svetlana flicks her hair over her shoulder and shrugs.

“He has been changing. He is older now, tired. He wants to see what family he has left.”

She is trying to make it sound as if she is cajoling him but Svetlana knows that his answer will eventually be yes. Mickey has never denied his father anything he wanted. Fuck the whore. Marry the whore. Raise a child. Whatever Terry has asked of him, Mickey has done.

The only thing strong enough to change that pattern a little is what Mickey feels for Ian, and it got him disowned by the Milkovich patriarch so irrevocably that his name is no longer allowed in Terry’s presence. Not a great loss by any imagining but Svetlana knows how much it wounds Mickey all the same. Her ex-husband would never admit it, but he is a deeply sensitive man and despite it all, he still loves his father. It is his weakness and she leans on it heavily now.

“You are dead to him, Mikhailo. You know this?”

Mickey nods, licks his bottom lip and his eyes, dark with hurt, flick away and then back to her.

“Yeah, I know.”

Svetlana notices a nerve near Mickey’s eye starting to twitch. It trembles just above the small white scar that remains from the pistol whipping Terry gave him and guilt gnaws uncomfortably at her.

Her mother was a person like Mickey, Natania Tarasov was a woman of few words but her face was a colourful story book of emotions. Each nerve seemed capable of telling all that was in her heart if people only bothered to learn her unique language.

Mickey lacks Natania’s subtlety of character and his tics are more pronounced but somehow he can be more difficult to read. Svetlana supposes it is because she never bothered to learn him. Ian did though. Ian would know that the little twitching scar is shame and regret and loss and the beginnings of another defeat to the whims of Terry Milkovich.

“Why the fuck do you want to let him see the kid anyway?”

“Family is important. So is money for college.”

Svet shrugs with her usual pragmatism. She allows a few seconds pause and then lays her final playing card

“I have told your father that if anything happens to you, he will never see Yevgeny again. He promises there will be no trouble.”

Mickey looks at her sharply, his eyes wild and full of protective fear

“I don’t give a shit about me. What about Ian?”

Svetlana suppresses a little smile and feigns nonchalance as if this is not the reaction she was waiting for.

“I can bargain for Ian too if you want me to.”

“If I …? Of course I fucking want you to! Ian is the whole fucking deal, tell that old prick to stay the fuck away from him! You hear me, bitch?”

Mickey takes a single,threatening step towards his ex-wife and then catches himself and stops, turning to grip the underside of the counter, hard, using it as an anchor. He keeps his eyes trained on her though and his gaze so furious Svetlana holds up her hands, nodding hastily. She always underestimates the pull of Carrot Boy.

“Of course. Ian will be safe. That is the deal? Geny gets money from his Grandpa and you have your Carrot?”

“There is no way this is all he wants. He doesn’t even fuckin’ like kids.”

Mickey says softly, almost to himself. He is breathing a little easier now and he makes himself let go of the counter, dimly aware that the sharp edge of the wood has raised blisters across his palms.

“It is one afternoon, Mikhailo. Then he will leave.”

Mickey rubs at the tiny quivering scar by his eye irritably. He hates it but if it is what it takes to extract a promise for Ian’s safety…

“You’ll be with him the whole time? Yevgeny, I mean.”

“Of course. Your father does not want to babysit. Only meet.”

Mickey is slowly nodding to himself. His Dad is a horrible old bastard but if Svetlana will be there … Mickey knows she would never let anything happen to Yev … and maybe she’s right. Perhaps after all this time the old man is starting to mellow a little. That’s not impossible to believe, not even for Terry. Maybe he’ll even be able to forgive Mickey a little … not that he cares but, you know, it’s his father …

“Ok. Yeah OK. But don’t leave Dad alone with Yev. He’s got a fuckin’ short temper and Yev can be a little mouthy.”

“I will stay close.”

Svetlana smiles, touched by Mickey’s obvious concern for their son.

“Alright. Can we have him Saturday night though? Ian will still wanna see him.”

Mickey is staring into the middle distance and Svetlana knows better than to try and talk to him much more when he is wound up so tightly. Terry is the stick. Mickey needs his Carrot. She lifts her purse a little higher on her shoulder.

“I will bring Yevgeny on Saturday before dinner. You’ll feed him.”

“Thanks.”

Mickey mumbles and barely notices when he is suddenly alone.

*

Ian finds Mickey in the kitchen. He heard him say goodbye to Yev but then he’s been so quiet, Ian wondered if he’d gone out.

“Hey! There you are! You OK?”

“Yeah.”

Mickey’s lip quirks upwards but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes which are large and dark with worry.

“You’re not. What’s wrong?”

Ian is in front of him in an instant, large hands resting on his shoulders, peering intently at him, reading him.

“Babe, what’s happened?”

Mickey drags himself back from the swirling white noise filling his head and swallows dryly. He sniffs, glances up at Ian and suddenly lunges forward and presses an urgent kiss against Ian’s mouth. It is harsh and quick and Ian doesn’t have time to respond before it is over and Mickey is moving away.

“Nothing. I’m good. Hey, listen, ah, Yev isn’t going to stay here next Friday.”

“How come?”

Ian’s lip is stinging a little where Mickey crushed it against his teeth but he ignores it. Mickey is a ball of nervous energy and it is giving Ian jitters just watching him prowl around the kitchen. It reminds Ian of how he used to move, furtive and angry, like a caged animal.

“Mickey. What’s going on?”

Ian grabs his boyfriends arm and enfolds him in a tight hug. Mickey stiffens and for a moment, Ian thinks he will push him away but slowly his arms circle Ian’s waist. When he looks up at Ian, he still a little absent but much more himself and Ian lets out the breath he has been holding.

“Tell me, Mick.”

“Svet wants to take him somewhere. It’s nothing major and I don’t want to fuckin’ argue about it with you. OK?”

“Okay…?”

Ian lets go of Mickey, giving him space, and leans back against the worktop, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets.

“She … she heard from Terry. He’s getting out and he wants to meet Yevgeny.”

Mickey looks across at Ian, eyebrows raised expectantly, his expression is defiant, almost challenging and Ian lets out a startled laugh and shakes his head, confused.

“Well fuck that! You told her that’s not happening, right?”

Mickey just keeps looking at him with the same expression and Ian feels the first stirrings of anger pushing through the shock.

“Mickey, there is no fucking way …”

“It’s his grandson, man. He just wants to see him.”

Mickey interrupts, he doesn’t want to argue about this. He doesn’t want to think too much about it. He just wants Terry to see Yevgeny and then fuck off out to Canada and never come back.

“Are you kidding me? I don’t give a fuck what he wants! He raped Mandy, he got someone else to rape you … Jesus! He tried to fucking KILL you, Mickey!”

Ian is practically beside himself with frustration and his voice bounces off the walls, the words slamming into Mickey, who pushes a hand tersely through his hair and returns the glare Ian is giving him

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic. It was a fight, no one tried to kill anyone.”

“Are you insane? What does he have to do, huh? What does the great Terry Milkovich have to do for you to see what he is?”

“I told you I don’t want to argue about this.”

Mickey shakes his head, trembling hands tapping a cigarette out of a packet and lighting it, no longer able to look at Ian, who presses on despite Mickey’s obvious discomfort.

“I can’t believe you. You are so frightened of him that you would use our son as a shield! It’s pathetic!”

Ian snaps, he doesn’t care about Mickey’s ego just now and if his words hurt then so be it! He is completely blinded by his anger. He thought the days of Mickey ducking and diving around the wrath of his father were done but here they are again and this time it is not Ian Mickey is willing to risk but Yevgeny.

“You call Svetlana and tell her there is no fucking way that evil prick is coming near our kid!”

Ian demands, sliding his cellphone across the counter top but Mickey makes no move to take it.

“I don’t like it either but it’s one afternoon! He just wants to say hi, give him some money and maybe get a fuckin’ picture to stick on his next cell wall, I don’t know but it isn’t gonna be a big fucking deal unless you make it one.”

Mickey is trying not to lose his temper. He gets why Ian is so upset but Ian doesn’t know Terry the way Mickey does. If Svet can make him agree to leave Ian alone then fuck it, this is the best chance Mickey has of protecting him.

“It’s not happening!”

Ian roars, slamming his hand down hard enough to upset the half-finished mug of coffee beside him. Neither man pays any attention to the warm, brown liquid dripping onto the lino, they are locked in a stare off and neither is willing to blink first.

“Yes it is.”

Mickey says finally and turns to leave through the back door. He needs to leave. He’s too wound up and he doesn’t trust himself to be around anyone right now. It’s too much. He feels too hot, like he has a fever and his head is pounding.

Ian knows Mickey is about to take off and it infuriates him still further. That he thinks he can just make this decision and then fucking run away when it suits him! Fuck that! Ian knows the triggers of Mickey’s temper very well and deliberately pulls them all at once.

“Are you really still that scared little boy? Mickey Milkovich: Daddy’s little bitch! Is that what you are?”

The effect is immediate and horrible. Mickey spins around and storms toward Ian, rolling his neck from one side to the other as he moves, finally and spectacularly losing his shit.

Ian stands his ground, not giving an inch even as Mickey’s finger jabs him in the chest and he gets close enough for his hair to brush under Ian’s nose.

“I know you’re upset, but you need to watch your fuckin’ mouth.”

“Fuck you.”

Ian spits, shoving him. Mickey has planted his feet, years of fighting conditioning his movement, and he only staggers slightly before stepping back in. He can smell the faint sweetness of bath lotion on Ian’s clothes and knows that there is a steaming bath upstairs waiting for them and that it will probably go cold still waiting and the knowledge only serves to add fuel to the inferno that is quickly becoming his temper.

“This is my dad, and my kid and if I say they can fucking hang out, then guess what, bitch? It’s happening. End of fuckin’ discussion!”

Mickey’s nostrils are flaring and his jaw is clenched so hard the muscles stand out starkly but Ian doesn’t care.

“No! Yevgeny is my kid too!”

“No he fucking isn’t!”

The words are out before Mickey can stop them and the silence that echoes around them is deafening. Ian goes completely still and fixes his gaze a few inches above Mickey’s head.

“Fuck. I didn’t mean that …”

Mickey tries to touch Ian’s face, trying to make him look at him but Ian jerks his chin away and Mickey lets his hand drop.

“Ian …”

“I’m going out.”

Ian says flatly and pushes roughly past his boyfriend.

“Ian … don’t… I …”

Mickey falters, his words failing him as he watches Ian walk away. The front door slams and this time, Mickey is painfully aware that he is suddenly alone.


	4. Chapter 4

Mickey wakes in the night to the sound of a car backfiring. For a moment his mind is completely blank and then the events of the morning flood back to him and he rolls over to find the space in the bed beside him is empty.

“Fuck sake, Ian.”

Mickey sighs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and sitting up. He gropes for his phone and squints against the harsh light that tells him it is nearly 2am. There is no message from Ian.

Mickey tugs on his jeans and a knitted sweater that he only realises is Ian’s when the sleeves bunch up around his wrists. He doesn’t know where to begin looking, Ian could be anywhere by now and maybe just down the road at the Gallagher’s but Mickey can’t stand to just idly wait for him to come home. He waited all day and all evening and constant worry is not improving his temper at all.

He is halfway down when he notices a large lump on the sofa. His breath leaves him in a soft rush and Mickey closes his eyes, his shoulders sagging in relief.

Mickey steps lightly down the rest of the stairs and crosses the room as quickly as he can without actually running. Ian is on his side, his face relaxed in sleep, but his knuckles, lightly curled by his chin, are bloody and sore looking. Mickey swallows and sets his teeth lightly in his lip.

If he doesn’t wake him, Ian will be stiff as a board in the morning, the sofa is far too small for him. However if Mickey does wake him, Ian is probably going to tell him to fuck off.

He hovers in the agony of indecision for a moment and as he dithers, Ian’s eyes flicker open. Mickey narrowly resists the panicked urge to hide behind the back of the sofa, and instead crouches down so that they are on eye level.

Ian blinks blearily up at him and the beginnings of a smile touch his lips in the split second before everything comes back and his face hardens, eyeing Mickey with sudden distaste.

“Where were you?”

“Out.”

Ian snaps. Mickey snorts and nods, raising his eyebrows in weary acknowledgement of Ian’s tone

“Yeah I figured that. Where?”

“Like you care!”

“Course I fucking care! I was about to go out looking for you and haul your ass back myself.”

Mickey chances a small smile but it is not returned.

“Just go back to bed, Mickey.”

Ian rolls over with a dismissive shake of his head. He is tired and angry and he doesn’t want to have anything to do with Mickey yet.

“Hey …”

Mickey tentatively reaches out but his hand is shrugged off immediately with an irritable jerk of Ian’s shoulder. Despite being May, the room is cold during the night and Ian is shivering slightly. Mickey sits on the edge of the sofa and twines his hands into the hem of his sweater looking down at Ian with a mixture of hurt and frustration.

“Will you come to bed, at least? You’re shivering.”

“I’m fine.”

Ian’s voice is muffled in the sofa cushions and Mickey huffs an impatient breath through his nose

“Come on, don’t be a stubborn dick…”

Mickey rolls his eyes and tugs at Ian’s shoulder insistently.

“FUCK OFF!”

Ian roars, shoving him away and nearly knocking Mickey onto the floor with the force of it. Mickey blinks a couple of times, completely taken aback. Ian never normally yells and neither of them have ever refused to come to bed before no matter how mad they have been. Mickey has no idea what this new horrible thing means but Ian will not look at him and is not tolerating his touch, and it sucks.

“Fine! Fuck you! Freeze. What do I care?”

Mickey stands up angrily and stomps toward the kitchen to get a beer. His hands are shaking as he stands by the sink, looking out into the darkness beyond. Ian normally wants to make-up and if he doesn’t then Mickey has really fucked up and needs to figure a way to make it right.

He runs his palm roughly over his face, striving for patience and walks back toward the sofa. Ian tenses, curling away from him in the confined space. Hurt and fear churn in Mickey’s stomach and he feels sick. He has never needed someone to look at him as badly as he needs Ian to look at him now but he won’t and Mickey doesn’t know how to ask.

“Ian …?”

There is no response.

Mickey takes a deep breath. All or nothing. He determinedly lies down on the sofa, wrapping one arm firmly around Ian’s chest and pressing his body flush against his boyfriends turned back. Ian gives a grunt of surprise and twists sharply but Mickey is not letting go and after a couple more attempts to dislodge him, Ian mutters an angry curse and gives up.

Mickey keeps his forehead pressed lightly against Ian’s back, breathing in the scent of him and trying to calm his nerves. Eventually the fine tremors of cold running through Ian cease and both men lie completely still. Mickey is stroking Ian’s chest lightly but the long-fingered hands he adores so completely do not come up to cover his own and after a while Mickey forces himself to ask the question that has been torturing him since Ian left the house this morning.

“You through with me now?”

Mickey is so terrified of the answer that only the agony of not knowing manages to wrench the words out of him.

Ian stays silent for a second and then sighs

“No.”

Mickey is glad he is lying down because the rush of relief makes him light-headed. He shifts himself slightly so that Ian won’t feel the way his chin has started wobbling and curls his knees up behind Ian’s own.

“I’m sorry about today.”

He murmurs. Ian doesn’t say anything but Mickey feels his shoulders relax ever so slightly and the rigid bend of his legs gives just a little. Mickey kisses the soft skin just visible over the collar of Ian’s shirt, a sweet, warm kiss that would normally make Ian stretch back against him like a cat in the sun. This time it only makes Ian roll his head slightly as if trying to erase the feel of it.

“You wanna … talk or something?”

“Not really.”

Ian shrugs. He clearly isn’t going to make this easy for Mickey and Mickey figures that is kind of fair enough. He snuggles in closer and focuses on the ground he has gained. Eventually he feels a thumb sweep over his knuckles and hooks his little finger around it gently.

“Do you even get why I’m so angry?”

Ian has been quiet so long that his voice startles Mickey and he gets momentarily tongue tied before answering and the words jumble out too fast

“Because I was a fuckin’ asshole. I didn’t mean what I said about Yevgeny not being yours.”

Ian begins to move and Mickey hastily shifts backwards, giving him room to roll over so that they are face to face. Green eyes meet blue and Ian’s hard expression softens just a fraction.

“I know you didn’t mean it. But you said it, Mick. You don’t get to throw that shit at me, not after everything we’ve been through.”

Ian’s voice is firm but a little swollen and Mickey trails his fingertips sympathetically over his boyfriend’s throat, nodding

“I know.”

“No, listen, you’re his real dad and I accept that but …”

“Ian, I might be the guy who knocked Svetlana up, but you’re just as much Yevgeny’s real dad as I am. He fucking loves you!”

Mickey sighs and runs his hand through Ian’s hair, gently separating a couple of wild tangles. Ian turns his head to nudge his nose against Mickey’s wrist. It is not a kiss but it is close.

“But you agreed to let some evil prick take him, without even talking to me about it.”

“He’s not taking him anywhere. Svetlana is goin’ to be there the whole time.”

Mickey tries to sound reassuring but it comes out a little defensive and Ian shrugs

“It can’t happen, Mickey. Simple as that.”

Ian says flatly

“You don’t know my dad, man. I can’t say no to him. He’s a fuckin’ psycho and he holds a damn grudge.”

“That is exactly why you HAVE to say no to him this time, Mickey!”

Ian pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut tight trying to keep his temper as Mickey sits up and reaches for his cigarettes. He can’t lie still and think about Terry.

Ian sits up beside him and puts one large hand on the back of Mickey’s neck, desperate to understand what is going on inside his head.

“Yevgeny is just a little kid. He can’t handle Terry.”

Mickey snatches a cigarette from the pack lights it in a smoothly aggressive motion.

“My dad wants to meet him, which means Yev has a better fuckin’ chance than you do.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“If I say no to him, he will come after me, Ian. He will want to hurt me and he might be a thick fuck but he ain’t completely dumb. He’ll come for you.”

Mickey’s voice is level and controlled but his nostrils are flaring and the fist not holding a cigarette is balled tightly on his lap.

“This is why you’re … Aww! Mick! I can handle myself.”

The pieces finally fall into place for Ian and he cups his boyfriends cheek gently in his palm but Mickey catches his hand not willing to be distracted, staring at Ian intently.

“I’m not talking about slapping you around a little! He … I … Ian, you would not be safe. Do you understand me?”

He manages finally but Ian only stares at him

“What about Yev?”

“He won’t fuckin’ hurt Yevgeny. It’s his grandson, Ian. And my dad never hurt kids. Women occasionally if they owed a fuck ton of cash, but never kids.”

Mickey draws hard on his smoke, letting a little of it curl out from his nostrils as he shakes his head

“His standards are pretty fucking low, but they do exist.”

Ian is sure there is some truth to that but it is still beside the point. However Mickey isn’t budging and Ian knows how fucking stubborn he can be, especially when his back is up against the wall. It will be like trying to convince a stone to bleed.

“You can’t just let him go with Svetlana. We need to be there.”

Mickey gives a small humourless laugh and shakes his head

“You think I’m letting you go near this? Have you listened to a single fuckin’ thing I just said?”

“I don’t care about me!”

“I CARE ABOUT YOU!”

Mickey flies off of the sofa and glares at Ian furiously

“You fucking hear me? I fucking love you!”

“I love you too…”

“Then let me do this my way. Let me keep you safe. Please?”

Mickey doesn’t often plead for anything. Most of his life he has simply taken what he wanted and dared anyone to stop him but he won’t do that with Ian. He respects him more than that and he knows Ian will not tolerate that shit even if he tries it.

Ian rubs his mouth and tips his head back. He fucking hates the situation but Mickey has made up his mind and more than that, he is asking Ian to support him. He never asks for support and Ian doesn’t want to refuse him now.

“You really think he won’t do anything to Yev?”

“No. Yev is probably the only person he doesn’t fucking hate.”

“OK. But you have to be there, not just Svet.”

“OK, fine.”

Mickey nods and lets out a long shuddering breath, holding his hand out to Ian.

Mickey kisses him as he stands, carefully at first and then more heatedly, his tattooed fingers grasping the fabric of Ian’s shirt with an urgent need that goes beyond seeking comfort or forgiveness and into something far more primal. 

Ian responds, locking his lips with Mickeys and pushing his tongue into his mouth and suddenly they are tearing the clothes from each other, not bothering to be gentle. This is not making love, it is not making peace. It is raw and carnal and possessive. It is claiming their place in each other’s hearts and carving their names into the battered parts of each of their souls, a reminder and a promise from each: You are mine. I am yours.

Ian gets Mickey ready with his tongue and fingers then slams his hips forward and Mickey takes every inch he can get, twisting his fingers into Ian’s hair, dragging the sensitive skin of his throat into view and crushing his lips against the fluttering pulse.

Ian can feel the release building in him like a gathering storm and cries out a second before Mickey and the last thing he sees as he plunges into his orgasm is the silver streak of tear tracks across his boyfriends cheeks. Mickey’s own orgasm is less like a rolling thunder and more like the lightening. It is sudden and explosive and ignites them both with electricity that will linger in their touches for days.

*

Ian doesn’t sleep immediately. His mind is whirling and even the solid weight of Mickey asleep on his chest can’t seem to make him switch off. He isn’t so sure as Mickey but then when it comes to most of the other Milkovich’s Ian supposes he really doesn’t know very much.

He gathers Mickey a little closer and kisses the top of his head. It had never occurred to him that he would be protecting Ian and misguided and crazy as it kind of is, Ian is still deeply touched.

He also has a week to change Mickey’s mind.


	5. Chapter 5

Ian nags, he cajoles and he even tries outright emotional manipulation. Mickey won’t budge. It is like they have gone back in time. The more Ian pushes, the more withdrawn and irritable Mickey becomes and the more difficult he gets, the more Ian wants to convince him.

The final straw comes when Ian brings it up during sex. Mickey is out the bed and furiously tugging on his pants before Ian has even finished his sentence.

“…what the fuck? You’re done already?”

“No.”

Mickey snaps,

“No, I’m not done and I didn’t even get a chance to fuckin’ start before you started running your damn mouth again.”

“Hey!”

Ian frowns and Mickey waves a semi-apologetic hand in his direction

“Sorry, but you won’t fuckin’ stop, Ian! It’s getting a little old.”

“I’ll stop when you listen!”

Realising Mickey has no intention of getting back into bed, Ian tugs his shirt back on and stands up

“No, you won’t because I have fuckin’ listened and you still keep going on.”

“But you don’t ac…”

“Tell me I don’t actually get it one more time and I swear to God, Ian…”

Mickey shakes his head irritably, trailing off before he says something that turns this into a full blown argument. He is pissed off, his balls ache and he needs to get away from Ian before things escalate, again.

“OK, OK I’m sorry. Will you … hey! Wait, Mick.”

Mickey leaves his hand on the doorknob but turns to face Ian who is now wrestling into his jeans preparing to follow him.

“What? What do you wanna talk about? I came up here to relax and get blown, not get bitched at.”

“Oh, nice. Thank you.”

Ian quips and Mickey rolls his eyes

“Yeah well I don’t feel like being a fuckin’ gentleman at the moment.”

“Clearly.”

Ian finally gets his foot through the narrow leg hole and draws himself up to his full height.

“I’m sorry that I’m annoying you but this thing is happening tomorrow and you still haven’t called it off.”

“And I’m not going to either. I told you why it’s happening and I told you it’s a one off fucking thing. Let it go.”

“Can’t you just …”

“Jesus, fucking Christ.”

Mickey presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, his pulse is pounding in his temples and his temper is fraying horribly.

“NO! Whatever you are about to fuckin’ ask, the answer is a resounding fuckin’ NO!”

“Well I’ll just go fuck myself then shall I?”

Ian crosses his arms defensively over his chest and Mickey throws his arms out in a wild ‘what the fuck do you want’ expression of utter frustration

“Sure, you do that. Then at least one of us will get laid!”

He gives Ian one final blue-eyed glare and turns on his heel, storming out of the house.

*

Svetlana glances up from the bar and sighs. Her ex looks like someone has just pissed in his cereal and is heading straight toward her.

“What do you want?”

She asks as he kicks a bar stool out of the way and places tattooed hands flat on the counter top.

“I want to know why the fuck Terry is meeting our kid. Not this bullshit about family, I want to know what’s in it for you?”

He is looking at her with a knowing expression that Svetlana would rather like to slap from his face but she can’t fault him either because when it comes down to it, they do know each other very well.

“It is too late to change your mind.”

“I’m not changing my mind but Ian won’t shut the fuck up about it, so I at least want to know why the fuck my life has just got a whole lot more miserable.”

“Money for college.”

Mickey cocks his head to the side and compresses his lips, clearly wanting more.

Svetlana hesitates and then shrugs. What the Hell? Why not be honest?

“I disappointed him. I was meant to keep you happy, keep you straight. Do wifely duties to prevent your faggot urges. He thinks I let him down.”

Mickey draws his lower lip inwards and sets his teeth in it firmly. That is a fucking concern. If Terry is pissed at Svetlana it changes things a bit.

“So you’re on his shit list and using the kid as a bargaining chip?”

“No, I am on his shit list but I would never use Yevgeny. There is no harm in your father meeting his grandson and if it makes for happier relations – good.”

Mickey snorts and shakes his head in disbelief

“You really think it’s as easy as that with him?”

“It is with you. I gave you Carrot and you like me now.”

Svetlana smirks and Mickey runs his tongue over his teeth making a noise that suggests she should not be so sure.

“I’m not my dad, Svet. You should remember that. For your sake.”

“No, he is 200lbs of Ukrainian pussy. You weigh less.”

Mickey grins despite himself and raises his middle finger contemptuously.

“I’m coming tomorrow by the way.”

If Svetlana is surprised she covers it well and lifts one shoulder nonchalantly

“You think this is a good idea?”

“No. But Ian doesn’t want you and Yev going alone and I don’t either. I’ll pick you both up at ten.”

“Sometimes I can almost believe you truly care for us.”

She smiles icily and Mickey tongues at the inside of his cheek, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise

“I like the kid. You’re just 140 pounds of Russian bitch I’m stuck knowing for eighteen years.”

His tone is flat and dry and Svetlana’s face freezes before she lunges across the counter grabbing his shirt front

“I weigh ninety pounds at most!”

Mickey had been deliberately winding her up, being dicks to each other is pretty much ninety percent of their dynamic, but he’s never had such a spectacular result from doing so before and the shit-eating grin he gives her makes Svetlana instantly regret showing how bothered she is..

“Well shit. Looks like I found out how to melt the ice queen.”

His laugh is warm and genuine and Svetlana joins him a moment later, letting go and covering her face with her hands in embarrassment.

“Fuck off. I will see you tomorrow, asshole.”

“Later, fatty!”

Mickey grins, waving his middle finger in the air as he leaves.

*

Mickey gets home to find Ian in the middle of a passive aggressive cleaning frenzy. He sighs and leans against the counter waiting for him to notice that he is back. The Veronica’s are pounding out of the stereo, bemoaning their own shitty love lives or something and Mickey decides to have a beer whilst he waits. He can hear Ian stomping around upstairs, if he has cleaned the bathroom it will save Mickey a job later as it is definitely his turn.

By the time Ian skips downstairs, Mickey is on his second beer and feeling a little better about everything. Ian freezes when he sees him and then carries on as if Mickey isn’t there at all.

“Did you clean the bathroom? Cause you know, it was my turn to do that.”

Ian hesitates and then nods curtly. He had forgotten it was Mickey’s turn, not that it really matters anyway. Mickey is meticulous when he cleans but one room takes half the damn day before it is up to his standards.

He had intended to ignore his boyfriend for a bit but as Mickey is talking to him, it feels petty not to reciprocate.

“Where have you been?”

“Well I’ve been here for nearly half an hour but before that, I was at the Alibi.”

“Oh.”

Ian turns the music down and tosses the bucker of dirty water into the yard before coming back to stand in front of Mickey.

“So? What happened?”

“I asked Svet why the fuck I’m ruining my home life for this.”

Ian blushes but doesn’t say anything

“Turns out, Terry is pissed at her because she couldn’t keep me straight and she’s trying to make it up to him.”

“That’s crazy!”

Ian forgets what is left of his sulk and grabs the beer Mickey holds out to him.

“Yeah, it is. But that’s my Dad. Makes people do crazy shit.”

“Right, so what’s the plan?”

Ian sips his drink as Mickey shrugs and lights a cigarette

“Same plan but now I’m takin’ a gun.”

“What? Why?”

Ian’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and he gawks at Mickey incredulously. Mickey is ridiculously calm by contrast and smiles blithely at him.

“I’m taking precautions to ensure a clear resolution to any problem.”

Ian ignores the fact that Mickey has clearly been reading his EMT manuals on handling difficult situations, though he stores the knowledge away to enjoy later, and focuses on the main issue

“So you think shit is going to go down?”

“No, but Terry might try and take Yev to teach Svetlana a lesson. He did that with some chick my uncle knocked up years ago. Took the kid to shake her up, keep her acting right. He’d bring Yev back in a day or two but why go through the hassle? Better just to nip that shit in the bud.”

Mickey leaves Ian digesting that new grim insight into the mind of his sort-of father in law and pushes away from the counter, heading toward his ‘junk’ drawer. Most houses have one and most contain random wires, old keys and letters that are too important to throw away but not important enough to bother filing.

Mickey’s contains all those things, plus an assortment of weapons and he keeps it locked purely because it is the only way Ian let him have it.

“Mick, wait … you can’t be serious about this?”

“You want me to show up with nothing but my dick in my hand?”

“No! I don’t want you to go at all! Any of you!”

Mickey smiles and pats Ian’s cheek gently

“I know, but things have changed a bit and I gotta handle it now.”

“What things?”

“The mother of our child is scared, Ian. I handle shit like that. That is my job.”

Mickey mumbles absently as he pulls out a box of bullets and three hand-guns, testing the grip on each before selecting his favourite.

“This … no. This is too much.”

“I agree. But what can I do? I’m sure it will be fine but better safe than fuckin’ sorry, right? He does something shitty, I’ll clip him in the leg.”

“Just kill him.”

The silence that greets his words envelopes Ian and he realises that those words have been bottled up in his throat for days, others have squeezed past them but it is those three words which he has wanted so desperately to say.

Mickey is looking at him but his expression is unreadable.

“He’s my fuckin’ father, Ian.”

Ian nods and makes a decision. It’s now or never because he won’t have the courage to push this conversation again.

“I know. But he’s dangerous and he’s unpredictable and we will never be safe with him alive.”

“I’l keep us safe.”

Mickey’s voice sounds like it is coming from that weird echo chamber again and he focusses all of his attention on the hand-gun in his palm.

“You can’t Mick. Not with him around. I could do it.”

Mickey snorts and shakes his head.

“Oh, yeah. Sure. You’re just gonna kill a guy, huh? You ever done that before?”

“No but I could.”

“Don’t be fuckin’ stupid. It’s not just about pulling the trigger, Ian. It’s all the shit that comes afterwards. You already take a fuckin’ cocktail of pills to function with a clean conscience, you really wanna add murder to the list of things that fuck up your head?”

Mickey is angry and his tone is sharper than it would usually be but Ian holds his ground and lifts his chin defiantly.

“You’re not the only one who wants to protect this family, Mickey!”

Mickey’s hands are trembling with anger as he sweeps the other guns and the spare bullets back into the drawer and slams it shut. The whole situation is getting more and more fucked up. A few days ago Mickey was asking about their anniversary and planning to ask Ian to marry him. Now, he’s loading a fucking handgun and Ian is offering to commit murder! Fucking Terry! Mickey clicks the lock in place hard enough to rattle the whole unit and takes a deep breath through his nose.

“You have no fucking clue what it takes to kill someone and I am not gonna waste my fuckin’ time debating it with you.”

“How many times have you done it?”

“In cold blood, like you’re talking about? I fuckin’ haven’t! I don’t need that shit on me, Ian.”

Mickey shudders and looks up at Ian and his boyfriend can see the play of emotions running through him. Ian tenses himself ready for a blow but when Mickey’s hand comes up, it is to gently tuck a length of hair behind Ian’s ear.

“I appreciate how much you want to help but I’ll handle it. Don’t worry.”

“But …”

“Nah, man. I don’t wanna hear it. You ain’t doin’ time over a piece of shit like my dad. Forget it.”

Ian huffs out an impatient breath and looks down at the floor. He knows Mickey is probably right but he genuinely doesn’t think he would mind putting a damn bullet through Terry Milkovich’s head.

“I want you to stay in tomorrow morning, okay? I know you’re gonna hate it, but I just want to know you’re safe so I can focus on Yevgeny.”

Mickey plays his trump card and Ian scowls but nods his agreement without argument. Mickey hasn’t done this sort of job in years but it is as familiar as his old parka.

He has a plan.

He has a gun.

He has the obedience of his crew – grudging as it is.

No one is hurting his kid and no one is hurting his boyfriend.

As far as Mickey is concerned he has this covered.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, 
> 
> Here is where we will start to get a bit messy but hang in there!
> 
> Hope you've all had a great weekend.
> 
> Han   
> xx  
> (shamelessly4shameless over on Tumblr)

Ian sets the coffee machine going as he eats his banana and then knocks back a handful of pills. He watches the coffee begin to drip into the clear glass and and the brown liquid start to rise, pressed up against it’s confines. He thinks how easy it would be to simply sweep the machine off the side and smash it to pieces, letting the coffee spill and spread and go wherever the fuck it wants to go. Why does the coffee always have to go into the glass and just hang around waiting for someone to pour it out? Why can’t the coffee just be left the fuck alone to be coffee?

Ian clenches his jaw and bows his head taking low, deep breaths through his nose. He completes his mental health check-list and realises that he is obsessing on a minute detail to avoid dealing with his actual emotions.

He remembers the first time he explained that portion of his check list to Mickey and the way his boyfriend had closed his eyes and tried the method himself before flapping his hand and scowling

“Shit. If I stop doing that I reckon I’ll stop thinking all together. Maybe I got a little bi-polar in me too? Make a change from having a fuckin’ huge bi-polar in me, eh?”

Ian snorts and smiles and then his lip trembles and he is pressing his shaking fingers into the wet crease of his eyes trying to keep the tears at bay.

He wants nothing more than to keep Mickey and Yevgeny safe, to protect them from everything that would ever seek to do them harm and destroy anything that causes them even an ounce of pain. But he can’t and looking at his trembling fingers and the pill box on the counter and realises he was a damn fool for ever thinking he could.

The machine gurgles and spits out the last of the dark roast. The kitchen is full of the scent of happy mornings and hushed memories. Ian pours two mugs as he hears Mickey make his trip to the bathroom. He isn’t humming today and when he appears on the stairs he is not in his usual morning attire of boxers and loose-fitting t-shirt, he is dressed in a black button down shirt which is tucked into black jeans, secured with thick leather belt. He has steel toe cap boots on his feet and a small frown creasing his brow.

“Mornin’ Mr Cash.”

Ian tries to smile and Mickey bravely lifts his own lip in response but his eyes won’t quite meet Ian’s own.

“Good mornin’. How you doing?”

Ian nods encouragingly but doesn’t trust his voice. He tries to hand Mickey his coffee but his hands won’t cooperate and he spills it across both of their hands, peppering the floor with thick drops.

“Shit! I’m sorry! I’m sor…”

“Doesn’t matter. You burn yourself?”

Mickey plucks the mug from Ian’s fingers and sets it on the side, roughly wiping his hand on the leg of his jeans.

“No, I’m fine, just fucking clumsy.”

Ian shakes his head and dries his own fingers on the hem of his t-shirt. Finally Mickey glances up at Ian and their eyes lock and hold. Mickey licks his bottom lip anxiously and his shoulders rise and fall in an almost infinitesimal sigh. He looks exhausted and wound up too tightly and suddenly Ian knows what he can do to help.

He steps forward and wraps Mickey tightly in his arms, cradling Mickey’s head in his hand and resting his cheek lightly on the top of Mickey’s hair.

“I love you so much, Mickey and you are really fucking brave. We’ll get through today and we’ll take Yev to McDonalds tonight and we will be fine. All of us.”

He injects as much certainty into his voice as he can and feels Mickey melt against his chest with a sound that could almost be called a whimper if Mickey Milkovich made such noises.

“You gonna nag me if I have one of those vanilla frappe things with all the cream and shit?”

Mickey mumbles into Ian’s shoulder and Ian kisses the top of his head fondly, squeezing him a little tighter.

“Damn right! You don’t floss often enough and those things will rot your teeth.”

“Nah, my teeth are fuckin’ perfect.”

“Because you don’t have weird sugar syrup all over them.”

Ian lectures and peers down at his boyfriend, glad to see his cheeks rounded in a sweet smile.

“I could get us a bottle of wine for after Yev goes to bed? That red one you like with the funny Italian name? Ah … Monty-pull-chee-ano Da-bruise-o.”

“Montepulciano D’abruzzo.”

Ian grins and Mickey pulls back from his embrace nodding happily.

“Yeah that one.”

“I’d really like that.”

Ian neatens the fabric across Mickey’s shoulders and tugs lightly at the collar, straightening the edges.

“I’ll text you when we’re on our way back.”

“Call me instead?”

“Sure babe, I’ll call you.”

Mickey almost never uses that sort of pet name and Ian’s heart jumps a little with the thrill of it.

They sit at the table and drink coffee together. Ian keeps his knee lightly brushing Mickey’s and when he carries the mugs to the sink he brushes his lips across Mickey’s neck as he stands.

Mickey cooks eggs and they eat side by side, maybe a little closer than usual but neither of them comment on it. Mickey switches his fork to his right hand and ditches his knife, he free left hand coming to rest on Ian’s thigh beneath the table.

Ian busies himself with the dishes as Mickey goes to his junk drawer and deliberately keeps his eyes averted as Mickey checks the pistol and tucks it into the back of his pants and then slips a smaller gun into a holster at his ankle.

“We won’t be more than a couple of hours.”

“Sure. I’ll be here.”

Ian kisses him softly and Mickey responds just as delicately. Ian is reminded of the old films when wives send their husbands off on a train to war.

He watches Mickey leave and notes how he pauses on the porch,ostensibly to light a cigarette but his eyes are scanning the road and the cars parked, looking for anything amiss. Satisfied he twitches his nose and bounds down the steps.

Ian watches until Mickey’s tail-lights disappear around the corner and then goes back inside. He decides to make another coffee though he is sure his anxiety would do better without it. He wanders into the kitchen and stifles a groan as he spots a familiar iPhone on the counter.

“Damn it, Mick!”

Ian knows if he runs, he can probably get to the Alibi before Mickey and Yev leave by taking the back alleys but if Mickey realises he’s forgotten it and doubles back only to find Ian gone – yeah. That’s a whole shit storm Ian does not need.

He picks it up and tosses it lightly from palm to palm considering but is saved from the decision by the sound of heavy boots on the porch step.

He rolls his eyes and hurries to the door, a conciliatory smile on his face, he knows how pissed off Mickey is going to be that he forgot the thing. He can hear muttered cursing and the door handle rattles but doesn’t budge.

“Did you forget your keys too?”

Ian laughs, opening the door.

“No. Guess I’m just lucky you were home.”

Terry Milkovich grunts, shoving the barrel of his shotgun under Ian’s chin.

“Move.”

*

 

Mickey pulls up outside the Alibi, leaning on the horn with his usual two quick blasts before getting out of the car, another cigarette already dangling from his lips.

“PAPA!”

Yev barrels out of the door and launches himself upwards into Mickey’s outstretched arms.

“Hey little man! How you doing?”

Mickey kisses his sons forehead and switches him onto his left forearm, carefully holding the cigarette in his right, away from Yevgeny and blowing the smoke over his shoulder away from the kid.

“We’re going to meet Grandpa, right?”

“Right.”

“He’s your Papa, right?”

“Sure is.”

Mickey forces a smile and frowns impatiently at the door, wondering where the fuck Svetlana is.

“Is Mom comin’?”

“Yeah she says it’s respectful to look pretty for Grandpa so she’s just doing her make-up.”

Yev informs him and Mickey barely stifles his derisive snort.

“You do your make up to?”

He teases and is pleased when Yev punches his shoulder with a well-curled little fist

“No!”

“Good, you’re pretty enough without, just like me.”

Mickey flashes him a cheesy grin and sets Yev down, patting his butt lightly.

“Go tell Mom to hurry up.”

“Okay.”

Yev dashes back inside and Mickey finishes his cigarette. He is exhaling the last dregs through his nose when Yev and Svetlana appear and Mickey chokes, coughing heavily.

“Do not say a word. I am beautiful and that is all.”

Svetlana is in full hooker regalia. She looks gorgeous but in a slightly menacing way, and Mickey is sure that whatever effect she is hoping for is exactly the effect she will have on his father.

“You even gonna be able to walk across the grass in those?”

Mickey nods to the spiky heels on her feet and Svetlana tosses her hair over her shoulder nonchalantly

“Side-walk, grass, throats … I walk across them all.”

“You charge extra for that?”

Mickey quips, bending down into the back seat to help Yevgeny buckle up. Svetlana glances down at his backside and considers kicking it but she notices the handle poking out from the waistband of his jeans and is suddenly glad that Mickey is with them.

“Let’s go. I don’t want to be late.”

“Oh yeah. Me neither. This is gonna be a blast.”

Mickey ruffles Yev’s hair playfully and straightens turning to look up at Svetlana with an expression that makes her roll her eyes and raise her middle finger at him.

“Just drive, idiot.”

*

The park is full of kids and parents and a birthday party is happening by the picnic tables. Mickey’s eyes dart every which way, scouting for the unmistakable aggressive swagger of his father in the crowd of families.

“It’s nearly twenty past, where the fuck is he?”

He mutters, drumming his fingers on the hood of his car impatiently. Svetlana shrugs and shifts her weight a little.

“He’ll be here.”

“Mama, can I go play yet?”

Yev asks. He has been sat between his parents on the bonnet for twenty minutes watching the play park and is practically beside himself with his own impatience. Svet glances across and smiles to herself at the identical looks of irritation on father and sons faces. She had not really been sure that Yevgeny was Mickey’s until he was nearly a year old. The blue eyes had suggested it but many babies have blue eyes. No, it was the development of that particular stubborn little expression, an expression that dares the world to defy him, that was when Svetlana was certain.

“No, you will get dirty. Just wait.”

“But I’m bored!”

Yevgeny tips his head back and looks imploringly at both his parents in turn

“Please? I won’t get dirty.”

Mickey clears his throat and nods distractedly, peering at a fat old guy who could have been Terry except for the pastel roll-neck sweater.

“Go ahead bud, just stay close.”

Yev is gone before his mother can counter, tearing into the play park with a confidence that makes both his parents smile.

“He gets more like you everyday.”

“Nah. He’s more like you.”

Mickey demurs, watching Yev negotiate a turn on the swingset with a couple of other kids.

“In some ways but he has your gentleness. Not soft. Just gentle.”

Mickey looks at her in surprise and Svetlana shrugs, reaching across to pluck his cigarette out of his fingers and take a drag on it.

“I appreciate you being here, Mikhailo. You can be a good man sometimes.”

“No problem.”

Mickey’s voice is gruff and Svet smirks to herself wondering if of all the things Ian has taught him, he will ever manage the acceptance of a compliment.

They watch Yev play in silence for a few minutes and then Mickey pats his pockets and swears loudly earning him a scandalised look from a mother with three children gathered around her like ducklings.

“What?”

Svetlana frowns

“Forgot my fucking phone. Shit!”

“You are supposed to call Carrot?”

“Yeah. Shit!”

Mickey nibbles at the corner of his mouth, thinking and Svetlana sighs and reaches into her purse.

“Here. Use mi…”

She breaks off scowling at the screen.

“What? Battery dead?”

“No. We need to go.”

“What? Why? My dad text you?”

Mickey tries to peer at the screen but Svet stuffs it back into her purse with trembling hands.

“YEVGENY! HERE! NOW!”

She bellows and Mickey flinches away, scowling at her.

“Jesus! Don’t yell at him like that!”

Yev is running towards them looking thoroughly chastened although he has done nothing wrong.

“What’s wrong Mama?”

“Nothing,we are going. Get in the car. I am driving.”

“What the fuck is goin’ on?”

Mickey snaps and grabs Svetlana’s arm as she kicks off her heels and tries to move past him.

“I’m sorry, Mickey. I will fix this.”

“For what? What the fuck is … Wait a minute.”

Mickey yanks her forcefully back as she tries to detach herself from his grip

“Svet, I’m beginning to get a little freaked out. What the fuck just happened? Did Terry text you?”

Svetlana’s eyes are huge and frightened and Mickey’s grip tightens.

“Show me.”

“No.”

“Show. Me.”

Mickey grabs her purse and Svetlana closes her eyes as he rummages through finally managing to grab her phone.

The screen comes to life as he pushes the centre button and in front of the background photo of Yevgeny a message preview sits in green:

“Keep M with you. Don’t let him leave.”

Mickey’s blood seems to freeze, cold sweat breaking out beneath his shirt. The world shrinks away from him as the phone falls from his numb fingers, hitting the gravel with a dull thud. Everything he feared flashes through his mind.

A car pulling up outside their house.

Ian bouncing toward the door.

Ian’s face contorted with pain and awash with blood.

Ian gasping on the floor, curling protectively around what is left of his ruined body.

Ian forced into the trunk of a car, barely conscious.

Ian gone.

Mickey clenches his fists so hard that his nails bite into his palms as a thick, cloak of absolute fury settles around him, warming him back to life.

If Ian is hurt in anyway, someone is going to fucking die.

The thought comes unbidden but it gives him something to cling to and loosens something in his chest, making it possible to breathe around the edges of his horror; and the world comes roaring back toward him, startling in it’s clarity.   
Svetlana watches the play of emotions across his face and shudders. She would never tell him so but in this moment she sees the cold ruthlessness he is capable of and thinks that Mickey has never looked so much like his father. It is an utterly terrifying transformation.

“Let me drive. You cannot in this state.”

He brushes her hands off, unable to stand being touched.

“Get in the fuckin’ car or don’t. But get the fuck out of my way.”

Mickey pushes past her and gets into the drivers seat. She scrabbles to get into the passenger side and is barely seated when Mickey hurls the car into reverse, the passenger door slamming closed as he swings the vehicle round.

“Yev - you belted up?”

“Yes Papa!”

“Good.”

Mickey jams the stick forward and floors the gas pedal, roaring out of the parking lot back toward the South Side.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some language/ scenes that may be uncomfortable or distressing. 
> 
> Sorry this update has taken a while - it was very difficult to write and to strike a balance. Thank you for reading.

The drive is mostly silent. Yevgeny asks if they will see Grandpa another time and his mother says she is not sure. Svetlana texts Terry and tells him they will get an ice cream for Yevgeny and wait by the swings. Mickey says nothing. He is thinking, planning and bargaining with God and the Devil simultaneously to please, please let Ian be alright.

He made Ian stay home. He wouldn’t let him come to the park. If Terry is there, if shit is already going down, then that is on Mickey. If Ian is dead it is Mickey’s fault. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

He speeds through a red lights and weaves in and out of traffic, ignoring angry horns and the screech of brakes as other drivers try to avoid collision. Svetlana gives him a side-on look but she wisely chooses not to say anything. A taxi cuts in front of them two streets away from the Alibi and Mickey slams his own brakes on and exits his silence spectacularly, letting fly a string of threats and curses which are creative even by his standards and leave him breathless and trembling.

Yevgeny sniffles in the back seat, the noise is like nails down a chalk board against Mickey’s raw nerves and he shoots his son an angry glance in the rear-view mirror.

“What? I wasn’t yelling at you. What the fuck you crying for?”

“Sorry Papa.”

Svetlana is keeping her eyes on the road ahead and that in itself tells Mickey that he must look fuckin’ deranged because normally she would kick his ass for raising his voice at Yevgeny like that.

Yev sniffs again and Mickey bites the insides of his cheeks hard.

The kid is clearly frightened and Mickey doesn’t blame him. As far as Yev knows, they were going for a day at the park and now all of as sudden his father seems to have lost his fucking mind and is screaming things that no seven year old should hear at random cab drivers.

Mickey closes his eyes and desperately tries to form a reassuring sentence for his child amid the chaos of his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, man. I’m not mad at you and I shouldn’t have yelled.”

He pulls in outside the Alibi and Yev unbuckles himself before the car has fully stopped, lurching forward to throw his arms around Mickey’s neck, squeezing him tightly.

“Sorry you didn’t get to see your Dad, Papa.”

“Psssh. It don’t matter bud, I got to see you and that’s way better.”

Mickey forces a smile into his voice but detaches the kid swiftly and nods to the door.

“Go ahead, Yev. I’ll see you later.”

Svetlana helps Yevgeny out of the car and then grips Mickey’s shoulder

“I will settle Yevgeny and be there.”

“No. Stay with the kid.”

“I will be there.”

Svetlana repeats.

Mickey doesn’t have time to argue. He simply repeats his order to stay with Yev and slams his foot back onto the gas pedal, speeding away.

*

Mickey parks around the corner and takes the back alley toward his home. The curtains are drawn and that tells Mickey everything he needs to know. He shrugs off his jacket and leaves it on the ground, he doesn’t need anything that might hinder his movements. He sprints across their yard, picking up an empty Jack Daniels bottle and gripping it by the neck, heedless of the rain water that trickles out, soaking into his jeans.

He peers in through the kitchen window and his grip on the bottle tightens. The house is a state, it looks like it has been robbed.

The back door is unlocked and he eases his way in as quietly as he can, ears straining. The TV is on, far louder than Ian would ever listen to it. It is there to cover other sounds. Fine. That means Ian is most likely still alive and Mickey clings to that thought for all he is worth.

His heart is thudding painfully in his chest but his mind is becoming clearer by the second as his survival instinct clicks into place.

Mickey takes a steadying breath at the foot of the stairs. There is a familiar smell that is so foreign in their home, he can’t place it but it makes him think twice about his weapon and he puts the bottle down, drawing his gun carefully. He thumbs the safety catch and begins to edge his way up the steps, keeping his back to the wall and looking over his shoulder frequently. The hair on the back of his neck is standing up stiffly. Mickey is fucking terrified. The smell he could not identify before is stronger now. Blood. He realises he can smell fresh blood and all caution leaves him.

“IAN? IAN WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?”

He kicks the bathroom door open, then Yev’s door and finally the bedroom he shares with Ian. The door hits something behind it and slams back in Mickey’s face but not before he has seen Ian, his hands bound roughly behind his back, slumped over the end of the bed, his face hidden in the comforter, knees buckled and bowed.

Mickey opens the door again, more cautiously this time, preparing himself to confront the nightmares spilling out of his head, bleeding into the fabric of reality and tarnishing everything with the colour of sorrow. 

“Ian?”

Mickey kneels beside the bed and runs a trembling hand over Ian’s shoulder, down his bare back. Slowly, Ian lifts his head from the blanket and by some miracle Mickey manages to force himself not to react. His fingers are steady as he pushes the hair back from Ian’s forehead and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Mick?”

“You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay.”

Mickey mumbles, unsure of which of them he is trying to reassure most. There is a knife on the bed and Mickey picks it up, standing and moving behind Ian, hacking at the rope around his wrists, careful not to nick the chapped, pale skin beneath.

“I knew you’d come.”

Ian is smiling, delirious and too far toward unconsciousness to feel much and Mickey silently thanks whatever God or fuckin’ spaceman is up there for it.

Mickey averts his eyes as he carefully helps Ian into a pair of sweatpants and tugs them up his legs, covering him.

“We’re getting you out of here, come on.”

Mickey doesn’t ask him where Terry is, it doesn’t matter. He’ll be back soon if he isn’t already lurking somewhere in the house. It doesn’t fucking matter. Mickey can’t explain the feeling that has settled around him, he just knows with an absolute certainty that Ian is safe now, because Mickey has him and he will never let his father hurt him again.

“He said you don’t love me. He said I’m a disease, that I’m rotting you.”

Ian mumbles, tears slipping out of his bloodshot eyes, turning pink as they slip over his blood stained cheeks. Mickey half lifts, half drags Ian upright. Ian needs to talk, he’s concussed or some shit, but he doesn’t need Mickey’s answers, they will come later. He doubts Ian would hear them now anyway.

“I bit him. I think I broke his finger.”

“Good.”

Mickey nods, that explains Ian’s face but it doesn’t excuse it. Nothing can excuse any of this. No amount of miseducation, fear of the unknown or ingrained bigoted belief can ever excuse any of this.

“I think he went to get a bandage.”

Ian wobbles and sways into Mickey who tucks his gun into the back of his pants and sweeps Ian up into his arms, taking the stairs sideways, careful not to bump Ian’s head. Ian finally slips into unconsciousness and he goes completely limp in Mickey’s arms. Mickey’s back protests the strain but he barely registers it. They’re nearly there. Mickey can see the door and he sets his teeth in his lip taking the last few steps as quickly as he can.

The back door opens as Mickey and Ian get to the bottom of the stairs.

Terry’s lip curls upwards and he shakes his head, running a heavily bandaged hand over his face with a groan of frustration.

“Can that God damned Russian whore do nothing I fuckin’ ask?”

Mickey has his arms full of Ian, his gun pressing heavy and useless against his back, and in that particular moment, as he sets eyes on the man who has done this to Ian, it is the only thing that spares Terry Milkovich’s worthless life.

“Turn around and walk away or I will fuckin’ kill you.”

Mickey’s voice is flat and emotionless but his eyes burn into his father’s with a hatred that gives Terry a small thrill to behold.

“Because I broke your toy?”

Mickey begins walking backward to the front door, he just needs to get Ian out, the rest will unfold as it will, but he needs to get Ian away first.

“You didn’t break shit. He’s gonna be fine.”

Terry presses his tongue into the inside of his grizzled cheek and smirks at Mickey, his eyes shining with malicious glee at the way his son is cradling the larger man to his chest. It’s almost too fuckin’ easy.

“Makes some funny fuckin’ sounds, don’t he?”

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth.”

Mickey backs into the edge of the sofa and nearly unbalances himself but keeps moving. Terry is coming towards him, slowly. It is a familiar game.

Terry could rush him, knock them all to the ground and fight from the dirt, he’s used to it and he out-weighs Mickey by close to a hundred pounds. Prison has made him fat, and meaner than ever. But no. Terry Milkovich likes obedience, control and fear.

Mickey is jiggling Ian now trying to wake him. He’s going to have to put him down because he is going to have to fight and he has never fought Terry and won before. He’s tried once, at the Alibi when he came out, but Mickey knows if the police hadn’t arrived he would probably have been killed.

Ian groans and his eyes flutter slightly and Mickey huffs a sharp breath down onto his face, urging him to hurry up.

Ian blinks as Terry rolls his neck and Mickey makes a decision. He bundles Ian over the back of the sofa and charges before his father knows what is coming, slamming bodily into him, his forehead splitting the skin above Terry’s cheekbone.

“Little fucker!”

Terry grabs at him as they crash to the floor, one hand locked around Mickey’s throat until the impact of their fall separates them. Mickey rolls away as his father’s fist slams the spot his head had been moments before. He pulls the gun from his pants but Terry seizes the back of his head and drags his face sharply down again his knee. There is a crack and a flash of blinding pain as Mickey’s nose breaks beneath Terry’s then all thought leaves him. He is screaming words that he will never remember, fighting not just for his life but for the vengeance Ian cannot take. Giving back as many wrongs that Terry has visited upon his lover’s body as he can with all the violence Mickey has within him.

He hits Terry with the butt of the gun, a dull, thudding blow that would end a less experienced fighter. They grapple for possession of the weapon and Mickey cries out as his father briefly crushes his knuckle between his teeth.

Father and son lock eyes Mickey is panting, sweat drips from his messy hair, mingling with the blood smeared across his face. Terry’s left eye is almost completely swollen shut and one of his front teeth is chipped.

“… I’ll kill him … ruined you … that Fucking faggot …”

Terry is raving at him through his breathless rage and the gun is trapped between them as they struggle, shoulder to shoulder. Mickey is holding on for all he is worth as the barrel becomes slick with blood from their mangled hands.

“Fuck you … better man than you … don’t fuckin’ touch him.”

Mickey grunts, dimly aware that in this moment, his guttural snarling is identical to his father’s. They are speaking with one voice and two completely different hearts and Mickey has to win this time. Mickey has to win.

But Terry is strong and his weight is gradually sliding Mickey’s feet back across the floor, pushing him aside. The barrel aims wildly around the room and Mickey yanks furiously backwards, trying to stop it pointing in Ian’s direction.

“NO! NOT HIM!”

Mickey heaves his shoulder against his father’s huge bulk, knocking him back a couple of steps but Terry recovers quickly and manages to wrap a hand in Mickey’s hair, twisting his neck back and throwing him to the floor. Mickey convulses as a boot catches the centre of his chest. He can’t get up, can’t breathe and Terry is turning toward Ian, the gun in his hand trembling but loaded and Mickey throws out a pleading hand, forcing himself to his knees, choking through his bitten and bloody lips, three desperate words that he has been saying for as long as he has known how to speak.

“Dad, please don’t …”

Mickey will never know why his plea gave Terry pause this time when it so seldom has before but his father hesitates for a split second, finger lightly resting on the trigger, aiming at Ian’s head.

A shot explodes in the small room, deafening in it’s nearness and both men freeze. Mickey hunches over reflexively, holding his hands halfway to his ears, eyes wide with shock as Terry slumps to the floor, the front of his shirt turning sticky crimson.

“Shit.”

Terry whispers before collapsing face first in front of his youngest son.

Mickey stares at him, mouth working silently for a few seconds and then his eyes flick upwards. Svetlana is standing in the doorway, her arms still outstretched, clutching Mickey’s old Ruger in a steady, double handed grip that he taught her himself.

“We need to go.”

She says giving Mickey a weird sense of De ja Vu that almost makes him laugh. Shock has always taken him that way, he laughs at the smallest fucking thing. At school it got him into so much fucking trouble. He once got kicked out of English cause they were reading some love story and two guys kissed and the shock of it made him laugh until he couldn’t breathe and Mr Waldrick thought he was being an asshole.

Mickey blinks. Why the fuck is he thinking about Mr Waldrick right now? The laughter bubbles up again but it comes out as a weird sob and Svetlana moves forward, bending down to slap his cheek firmly.

“I have friends, we will take care of this. Get Ian to a hospital.”

Ian!

Mickey does a sort of staggered crawl toward the sofa. Ian is out of it, most likely the result of his own shock and trauma. Mickey glances at Svetlana but she is speaking in rapid Russian into her phone and not looking at him at all. His face is throbbing viciously and he is pretty sure a rib is broken but he has driven with worse injuries before.

Somehow he get’s Ian out of the house and manages to lay him across the back seats of his car. He doesn’t try to buckle him in, Mickey’s whole body is shaking like a leaf and he will need to drive slowly anyway.

Mickey begins to cry as he drives, his shoulders shaking silently as tears soak into the collar of his shirt. He is thinking of Ian. Of Terry. Of Svetlana and Yevgeny.

“I love you. And I am so fucking sorry.”

He doesn’t know exactly who the words are for, maybe for one maybe for all, but it doesn’t matter because besides him, no one can hear them anyway. 

They make it to the hospital, Mickey hails a couple of paramedics to carry Ian inside, he simply cannot lift him. He follows them into the ER and waits by Ian’s stretcher, stroking his hair and cleaning a little of the blood from his face with the hem of his shirt. Ian’s lip quirks upwards in a sweet half smile that he sometimes has when he is on the edge of sleep and Mickey touches him just right and Mickey bends, placing a chaste kiss against the dimple it creates.

He closes his eyes and leans back against the cold, white wall waiting for a doctor, one hand resting protectively on Ian’s shoulder.

*

Ian wakes beneath the bright lights of the hospital. His head is pounding and his face feels as though the skin is stretched too tight. He blinks and breathes and glances down the bed. A familiar dark head is resting on folded arms, one bandaged hand resting on Ian’s covered thigh.

Ian reaches down the bed, his fingers don’t quite make it and when he tries to lean forward a series of sharp pains from across his body stop him.

He must have made a sound because Mickey stirs and blinks up at him uncomprehendingly before pushing himself upright and rubbing the sleep hastily from his bruised eyes, wincing as his fingers brush against his nose.

“Hey! How you doin’?”

“Sore … Mick, what happened to you? We were going to the park … no wait … you were… Did you get in an accident?”

Mickey sits gently on the edge of the bed, reaching out to cup the back of Ian’s head gently

“I’m fine, it’s just a couple bumps and bruises.”

“Why don’t I remember anything?”

Ian is looking up him desperately, his eyes flicking across Mickey’s face trying to read him with endless shades of perfect green. They hadn’t been sure the left eye could be saved but they managed it and Mickey had actually hugged the doctor when she had told him.

“You will. It’s just the meds they got you on. Everything is fine. I promise.”

Ian is clutching Mickey’s shirt but he nods, trusting his words completely.

“Will you lie with me?”

He asks softly and Mickey smiles, kicking off his boots. Ian goes to try and scooch over but Mickey stops him, not wanting him to cause any unexpected shoots of pain.

“It’s fine, I got loads of room.”

He squeezes himself between Ian and the guardrail, sliding down so that they are eye to eye.

“Is Yevgeny alright? I don’t remember …”

“Yev is fine. He came by earlier but you were asleep. He’ll be back after soccer.”

“Soccer is a waste. He’ll never get a soccer scholarship.”

Ian mumbles and Mickey smiles wetly at him, dashing a hand under his eyes and laughing

“We got plenty of time to worry about college. Let him get through second grade, huh?”

“You always say that.”

“You always fuss.”

Ian smiles broadly, relaxing into the familiar rhythm of a conversation he remembers without any effort and kisses the tip of Mickey’s nose.

“We’ll get him there though right? I don’t want him to struggle like we did.”

“He won’t.”

Mickey trails his thumb under the worst of Ian’s cuts, it is just beside his chin but already a fine smattering of red gold stubble is burying it.

“You’d look good with a beard.”

“You looked like shit with yours.”

“Hey!”

Mickey shows Ian the back of his hand but is laughing as he does so. It is another familiar routine and Ian nestles into Mickey’s chest with a grateful sigh.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

Mickey wraps his arms around Ian and kisses his forehead fiercely

“And I ain’t going anywhere.”


	8. Chapter eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we begin our journey toward recovery.

The gentle oblivion of medicated amnesia can’t last forever. Ian begins to remember on his third day in the hospital. It is fragmented at first, snatches of half memories that are steeped in senses. He remembers the bright light around the outline of closely cropped grey hair as he opened the door.

He remembers the scent of prison linen and mustard on heavy breath and the burn of cheap rope around his wrists.

Ian glances down at his hands, at the healing blistered skin and swallows heavily. Another fragment falls into place and he clenches his jaw against it, pushing back against the reality. His body aches all over and Ian tries not to think too much about it but the memory fragments are like sand trapped in a timer and no matter what he tries, they will not stop trickling through.

Ian glances around the sterile room and his skin crawls with the urge to be in a different place, a place with things to distract him. He is very good at monitoring and controlling his thoughts, he practices doing so as part of his mental health self-check ups but he needs things to aid the process. He needs familiar objects and routine.

The vision in his left eye is fuzzy as he glances around for his phone and he blinks a few times trying to clear it but it won’t clear and his temper begins to fray. He ignores the searing pain in his side and twists round to rummage in the white plastic drawers beside his bed.

His phone is tucked in a pair of socks – hidden from casual chancers but also hidden from Ian and as he finally locates it he curses Mickey’s cautious paranoia.

There are a few messages on the screen but the one he lingers on is the most recent, delivered a couple of hours ago.

‘Gone to shower & get u some proper food. Txt me if u need me. M.’

Ian types a quick text and presses send

‘Bring my clothes. Getting out of here.’

Ian’s phone flashes up almost immediately

‘Dr give u all clear?’

Ian considers lying but it doesn’t seem worth the energy.

‘No. Need 2 leave tho. Want to be home.’

‘B there soon.’

Ian reads the message and then closes his eyes and tips his head back against the pillow. His phone buzzes again a moment later

‘Do NOT leave without me. Will kick ur ass. Love U.’

Ian smiles slightly and opens up his photos. He scrolls through pictures of Mickey, pictures of Yev, he lingers briefly on the photo of Mick and Yev asleep on the bed from a few days previously, then keeps scrolling. There are pictures of his family and a few selfies but it is a specific photo he wants to get to. It is part of his anchoring technique.

Finally it appears in the gallery and Ian presses his finger to the little image with a sigh. Mickey’s face fills the screen, the image of his eyes, aiming straight toward the camera, stills Ian’s jumping nerves and he breathes through his nose as steadily as he can.

A single lock of dark hair is flopped forward onto Mickey’s forehead, his expression is serious but if you know where to look, and Ian does, you can see the very beginnings of a smile hidden in the slight crease of his eyes and the gentle rise of fine black brows.

Ian stares until the screen darkens and then closes his eyes trying to remember every little detail. He recounts the tiny noticeables. The beginnings of stubble, a vague shadow of cheekbone, slightly flared nostrils, a tiny scar by Mickey’s right eye from …

Memory hits Ian, a vicious gut punch from his brain that leaves him gripping the sheets and gasping for each panicked breath.

The way the butt of Terry’s gun swept down in that dreadful arc, striking his teenage son with a crack that made Ian’s stomach shiver.

Mickey blinking into wakefulness after the blow, his eye socket suffused with angry purple bruises and his lips cracked and bloody. Terry had been in the kitchen and Ian had helped Mickey sit up, whispering to him that they could run, if Mickey could stand, they can run and Ian would cover him.

Mickey had shaken his head and touched Ian’s face as if he wasn’t even sure if Ian was real.

“Whether I run or not, he’s gonna kill me, man. But not you. People would miss you. You’re gonna be OK.”

And he had fucking smiled as he said it, Ian remembered that now, Mickey smiling vacantly as he assured himself that Ian was going to be okay, like that was all that mattered to him.

Tears slip down Ian’s face and he lets them.

He remembers Svetlana and the old familiar hatred that he has learned to push away and overcome for the sake of Yevgeny resurfaces with a vicious snap that Ian embraces wholeheartedly.

He remembers Mickey, his Mickey, pushing him away, so terrified of what would happen if they were caught again. At the time Ian had thought, had always thought, that fear was a self-preservation thing. Shoving Ian aside, marrying Svetlana, he thought it was all about protecting himself and maybe some of it was but now, lying in this purgatory of a room, Ian sees the layer beneath the obvious.

He sees Mickey’s fear for him. He sees the agony of wanting something so badly but knowing that to catch it would be to court destruction and rage fills his heart completely, blackening the edges of his love for Mickey, his care for Yevgeny, tainting everything in it’s path, an oil slick without boundary.

 

Mickey arrives with a backpack of fresh clothes and a meatball Subway and enters Ian’s room with no idea of the storm behind the closed door.

“Hey, I brought you a … OOF!”

He staggers back against the wall, dropping the tightly wrapped sandwich, eyes wide as Ian’s tongue fills his mouth, aggressive and demanding. Mickey tries to pull away but Ian’s body is crushing him into the white coated wall.

“Get on the fucking bed.”

Ian growls, grabbing the front of Mickey’s shirt and yanking him forward.

“Hey! Woah! Hang on …”

“What? You don’t want me?”

Ian shoves Mickey’s chest and gets in his face within inches of his boyfriends, eyes burning. Ian’s face is a medley of colours, the skin around his left eye a swollen mass of red and black, the fair auburn brow lost in a sea of bruising.

Mickey licks his lip, he had not to be met with a towering inferno of sexual fury and he is trying to catch up to Ian but he doesn’t know how much of what is happening is genuinely Ian and how much is the disruption of his medication routine.

“Of course I fuckin’ do. But not here.”

“Why? Because I’m a fuckin’ state? Because I got the stink of a victim on me? Because you were right and I was wrong?”

“What are you … Hey! Calm the fuck down!”

Mickey snaps as Ian grabs his shirt again, dragging him up onto his toes roughly.

“I am not going to be fucking tamed by this shit! I will not be whipped and afraid like you were!”

Ian snarls and crashes his lips once more against Mickey’s own.

Mickey is desperately trying to fit the pieces together correctly. Ian isn’t being exactly cryptic and his words sting more than a little but Mickey knows this sort of anger – it is almost aimless in it’s all encompassing reach. He lived with it for years, lashing out at everything and everyone and cowering away from his true self with almost pathological fear.

That isn’t Ian.

It could never be Ian but it is close at the moment and he needs to tread lightly.

“No you fuckin’ won’t but you gotta build your strength up. And we need a plan. We can do more damage with a plan, remember?” 

“I’m going to kill him.”

Ian’s eyes are wild, his red hair flying up around his head like some sort of demonic halo and Mickey simply nods in agreement.

“Fine.”

He holds Ian’s stare until some sort of awareness returns to the speckled green depths and then slowly detaches the grip Ian has on his shirt and crouches down to pick up the Subway bag.

“I got you this. I want you to eat it. Then we’ll get you checked out.”

Simple instructions. A simple plan. They are what Ian needs and he clings to them, sitting down painfully on the edge of the bed and taking the sandwich from Mickey. He doesn’t apologise and Mickey doesn’t need him to.

There is blood on the floor and on the hem of Ian’s gown from where he has pulled his stitches. Mickey covers the drops with his boot before Ian can notice them and folds his arms until he is sure that his hands have stopped shaking.

The atmosphere is settling around them and Ian is looking more himself as the minutes tick by, a little flat lined and so tired it makes Mickey’s chest ache, but definitely closer to his Ian.

“You want a bite?”

Ian offers, the fire has all but drained from his voice and Mickey can’t think of many times he has felt less like eating in his entire life but he nods and accepts the package as Ian passes it to him.

“You know, I never get how people eat these things without getting sauce everywhere.”

He passes it back, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. Ian’s lip lifts slightly and he shrugs

“You take too big bites.”

“Yeah? That the secret? Gotta nibble it?”

Mickey cocks his head to the side and gives Ian a little smirk which Ian returns as best he can.

“Just don’t cram it in.”

“I’ll just stick with chicken and bacon club.”

Mickey grabs a tissue from the box on Ian’s stand and wipes the blood under his shoe discreetly before sitting down next to Ian on the bed.

“Are we going to ours or you maybe wanna go to Fiona’s?”

“Ours.”

Ian says definitely and without hesitation.

“Cool.”

Mickey has left Fiona and Debbie doing a seriously thorough clean up of the place because he thought that was likely to be the answer. The bedroom he cleaned up himself, the bedding shoved in the trash, along with the mattress and bed frame, which Mickey smashed to pieces with a baseball bat in the alley.

The new bed was due to be delivered later that day but even if it wasn’t there, it didn’t matter. Mickey would set Ian up on the couch and sleep on the floor.

*

The doctors are reluctant to let Ian leave so soon and turn to Mickey as Ian’s next of kin. Mickey hesitates because privately he thinks they are probably right and Ian could do with a few more days of rest and a team of doctors at his disposal because Mickey will do his best and he knows how to dress wounds but that is about all he knows how to do.

However when Ian looks at him, his eyes wide and pleading, Mickey takes his side instantly and signs the paperwork he is asked to sign with a firm grip on the cheap plastic pen, his other hand linked with Ian’s.

 

The drive home is quiet. A little of the rage seems to have dissipated beneath the gentle sway of medication and Ian alternates between staring out of the window and leaning down to rest his head on Mickey’s shoulder.

Mickey smokes but only one, despite his agitation. He needs to tell Ian that Terry is already dead but not yet. If Ian is using that as his guide through the maze of hurt and confusion, then Mickey is not about to rip it away from him until he absolutely has to.

 

They pull up outside their house and Mickey watches Ian anxiously waiting for him to give some sort of cue. Ian stares at the bright blue door for a second and Mickey considers just driving them both down the block and to a cafe or bar to wait it out a while but Ian is taking a deep breath and opening his car door and getting out. He is doing it with or without Mickey and as always, Mickey faithfully follows his lead.

They get inside and Ian looks around as if trying to place everything in his mind.

He notices the new mugs that have replaced the ones he broke as he tried to get away from Terry. He notices the absence of a carpet in their living room but doesn’t ask why.

He ignores the broken banister posts.

He turns a blind eye to Mickey’s watchful gaze.

He is home, that’s enough for now.

Ian goes to the coffee machine and scowls. Mickey braces himself for Ian to give him some dreadful detail of his ordeal but when Ian turns to him he simply says

“You’ve been messing with my coffee station, haven’t you?”

“Uh … Not on purpose. I thought I put it all back right.”

Mickey is so relieved he is grinning like an idiot and Ian returns his smile with a genuine glint in his eye.

“You got the papers all mixed up and clearly stirred your cup with the scooper – it’s sticky.”

“That ain’t the thing we measure the vanilla stuff with?”

“We don’t have a thing for measuring vanilla cream because that stuff is gross.”

“You know I like it sweet.”

Mickey shrugs and Ian rolls his eyes. This is normal. This is their life and it is fractured but not broken. They are both willing it back together, pressing the pieces like wet clay, moulding their reality into what they both need and want it to be.

“It’ll rot your teeth.”

“Nah man, I got perfect teeth.”

Mickey’s lip quivers slightly, remembering the last time they had this conversation but he pushes the thought back, hard. 

“You gonna make me a coffee or not, Firecrotch?”

“I’ll make you a black coffee, fit for adults.”

Ian quips back and flips the little machine on.

“Oh, hey, Yev wants to come by later, is that alright?”

“Of course!”

Ian nods enthusiastically, the thought of having Yev there is a welcome distraction from the white noise loitering at the back of his mind, threatening to encroach on him if he lets his guard down.

Ian glances over at Mickey, he is hovering, not quite still and definitely not at ease. Ian can’t blame him but he wishes he wouldn’t. He suddenly feels too crowded and desperate to be alone.

“Mick, could you maybe go out and get me some ginger or something with ginger in it? The meds have got my stomach all fucked up.”

Mickey springs to attention and under other circumstances it would make Ian laugh aloud.

“Sure, you wanna come with?”

“Nah, I need a shower.”

Ian sees the emotions of indecision flicker across Mickey’s face as he weighs up wanting to get Ian whatever he wants and also not wanting to leave his side. It feels a little dishonest but Ian rubs his gut with a theatrical grimace, watching Mickey’s eyes follow the movement. Mickey reaches for his keys and nods as if to himself.

“I won’t be long. You need anything else just text me.”

His eyes are dark with concern and Ian forces himself to smile.

“Thanks babe.”

The pet name eases some of the worry on Mickey’s face but the kiss he places against Ian’s lips is still too gentle.

“Just text me, okay?”

“Got it.”

Ian nods and watches through the window as Mickey gets into the car and drives away. The coffee machine splutters and Ian turns it off, leaving the steaming pot where it is. He moves from the kitchen to the living room, scuffing his trainers against the rough boards. From the living room he makes his way upstairs. He pauses at the bathroom. It is mostly spotless but there is a dry rusty looking streak on the underside of the sink which has been missed. He goes to Yev’s room and breathes a sigh of relief. The little box room is clear and looks as it always looks. He hesitates and then takes a deep breath and opens his bedroom door.

The bed is gone and the rest of the room is unnaturally tidy. Ian shoves his hands into his jeans pockets and moves a little further in. He crouches down and rubs his fingers over the indents in the carpet where the legs of their bed used to stand.

Ian can’t explain why the loss hits him so damn hard but it feels like a part of himself has been thrown away.

He suddenly wishes that Mickey was there. He feels far too alone and his loneliness scares him.

A car backfires down the street and Ian flinches with a startled gasp. 

He leaves the house and walks quickly to the alley. His mattress is there but it’s been rained on and is clearly fucked. He lifts the dumpster lids one after another until he sees a familiar glimpse of white wood. He grabs for it but instead of being a complete leg or slat it is only a stub. Ian throws trash bags out of the way to find the rest. It is all there, but smashed beyond recognition. It is splintered and broken and ruined.

Ian understands, he isn’t angry. Of course Mickey would smash it to pieces and there is no way that Ian will be able to fit them back together again. He supposes it is a wonder Mickey didn’t burn the damn thing as well really. Ian chucks the trash bags back in and goes back into their house.

 

He takes a shower and by the time he is finished, Mickey is downstairs unpacking a grocery bag that is stuffed with ginger beer, ginger snaps, root ginger and even carrot and ginger soup and a ginger flavoured power bar which he must have got at the health food store.

Ian grabs him and hugs him as tightly as he can, burying his nose in the crook of Mickey’s neck, relaxing into the strong arms that wrap around his back and the sure, capable hands that cradle his head and body.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so …”

“Shut the fuck up, Gallagher.”

Mickey says sternly. They stay like that for what feels like an age until the doorbell rings and the new bed arrives. It’s a super king divan that Ian doesn’t even want to know the price of.

Ian signs for it and then they both negotiate the stairs, laughing when it gets stuck and and working together to get it through the bedroom door.

“Jesus, Mick! This thing is huge!”

“Yeah well, tired of always bein’ on the edge when you and Yev decide to play starfish.”

Mickey huffs, tilting his end and ramming it with his shoulder to try and force it through the doorway.

Ian grins and pulls with all his might. The thing finally gives and within minutes they are sprawled side by side on it, panting and exhausted, but happy.

“Don’t put your boots on it.”

“I wasn’t gonna.”

Mickey rolls his eyes and runs his fingers through Ian’s hair. The room seems full and centered again and Ian kisses the inside of Mickey’s wrist gratefully.

He is home.


	9. Come Back Around To Me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we begin to return to the beginning.

They spend the late morning striving for normality but they are falling just short of normal at every turn, both of them treading on eggshells around the massive, lumbering elephant that has wandered into the room since putting the new bed in. Ian wants to know where the fuck Terry is but doesn’t venture to ask in case Mickey is protecting his father and Mickey for his part is terrified to tell him that Terry is dead for fear that vengeance is the one thing keeping Ian sane.

The resulting tension is gruelling for both of them and Ian flits between utter fury directed at Mickey because he has nowhere else to direct it and needing reassurance so badly he can hardly stand to breathe alone. Every time he begins to feel strong enough to hold his head up, another wave of misery and remembered filth hits him and Ian finds himself gasping for air amid the chaos of his mind and turns to his boyfriend because the years have conditioned him to do so.

He curls against Mickey as he prepares lunch for them both, his the buttons of his flannel shirt pressing against the printed lyrics on the back of Mickey’s t-shirt, his hands tucked into Mickey’s front pockets. Mickey smiles lazily and sways against Ian before remembering himself and planting his feet securely.

Ian sets his jaw, his fingers digging into the soft, slim flesh of Mickey’s hips..

“I’m not gonna cry because your ass touches me.”

“I know, but this knife is fuckin’ sharp and I’m clumsy as Hell when you get me going.”

It is a sweet lie but an obvious one. Mickey’s movements develop an uncanny, cat-like grace when he is aroused and Ian knows this all too well. It is one of the things Ian enjoys most about sex with Mickey; the swift precision of his touches and knowing use of tongue and teeth.

Ian lets go of his hips and moves away angrily. He hates that Mickey is lying to him, protecting him from the things he doesn’t need protecting from. Ian tries to push the anger away but it is welling up again. He wants to know where Terry is. He watches Mickey dump grated cheese onto the carefully buttered slices of white bread and has to clench his teeth to stop himself yelling.

He imagines Mickey ushering Terry out of the back door; imagines him shoving crumpled bank notes into Terry’s filthy hands, Ian’s blood beneath the short nails, telling him to get somewhere safe. Ian knows it isn’t likely but he also knows that if it was anyone else Mickey would be combing the streets looking for them, turning over every possible nook and cranny and refusing to rest until they were well acquainted with the taste of his steel toe-caps. That is Mickey. He smashes shit and deals with people.

Instead of doing that though, he is here with Ian, making sandwiches and looking at him with doe-eyed concern that makes Ian want to curl onto his lap and knock his teeth out simultaneously. Ian tries to reason that Terry is Mickey’s dad and so it is different but he can’t reconcile it.

By the time the sandwiches are made, Ian doesn’t trust himself to be in the same room as Mickey and stalks away angrily, taking his meal with him. Mickey follows him upstairs and Ian snaps at him to go away, hating himself but in that moment, hating Mickey’s presence more.

Mickey frowns after him, jolting as the bedroom door slams but takes his lunch back to the kitchen and pours himself a large whisky to accompany it.

*

Ian pads back into the living room some time later and they play video games for a while. When Mickey playfully cheats, Ian punches his arm a little too hard to be labelled ‘affectionate’ and when Ian wins a round Mickey is a little too pleased for him, his voice too loud in the quiet room. It sounds shitty and feels worse. It fucking sucks.

After the game gets boring, they watch a movie or at least some of a movie because when Ian falls asleep on Mickey’s shoulder, Mickey turns the volume off, happy to sit in silence for a while and just try to calm his mind down. He shifts Ian so that he is lying with his head in Mickey’s lap and gently combs the thick red hair out with his fingertips, spreading the bright locks across the dark denim of his jeans.

He feels guilty for it but Mickey is pleased that Ian is asleep – they both need the break. He is used to taking care of Ian through depressive episodes, there haven’t been many really bad ones over the last few years, but it isn’t alien territory to them.

This though … this is something darker – it’s not medical, it’s personal. The way Ian keeps eyeing at him when he thinks Mickey isn’t looking … it is like he hates him. Fuck. Maybe he does!

The thought makes Mickey’s stomach sink but he knows he deserves it. He made Ian stay in the house, he made him wait behind all alone, because Mickey was stupid enough to take Terry Milkovich at his word. Even after everything, Mickey had still wanted to trust his father. It makes Mickey’s chest burn with helpless shame and the hand in Ian’s hair trembles furiously but he keeps smoothing the knotted lengths until they are perfect.

Because of his stupidity, his cowardice, Ian is seriously fucking hurt and there is nothing Mickey can do to help him. All he can do right now is stay with him while he sleeps and keep him comfortable.

It doesn’t seem like a fuckin’ lot. Mickey moves his hand down to lay protectively over Ian’s chest, his fingers slipping in between the buttons to rest lightly against the bruised skin beneath.

*

Ian wakes up and wipes his mouth blearily. The lunchtime meds have knocked him for six and he knows it is probably a good thing but he hates the cotton wool feeling it creates in his mind, blurring the corners, making everything shapeless. He realises that he has his head in Mickey’s lap, and that he has drooled on his boyfriend’s thigh and sits up groggily.

Mickey’s head is tipped back, his breathing regular and deep. Ian stands up and grabs a beer from the fridge. He wanders upstairs and leans against the door of their bedroom, looking at nothing in particular.

He feels guilty for it but Ian is pleased that Mickey is asleep – they needed a rest. They take care of each other, they always have done but Ian knows it is not exactly an equal division of labour. Mickey has sat with him in countless clinics and seen countless doctors, filling prescription after prescription and just when the combination seems right; Ian’s body finds a way of letting them know it isn’t.

The difficulty is that Ian doesn’t want to be taken care of. He has always wanted to be the driving force in his own life. Even sexually, Ian has always been the one in control – though Mickey is definitely capable of topping from the bottom as it were, and Ian loves that challenge. But once again control has been wrenched from Ian’s grasp and he is adrift.

He knows Mickey is keeping something from him and he knows it will be for a hopelessly sweet reason such as not wanting to overwhelm him. It makes it hard to be mad but it also makes it impossible for Ian not to be mad, because he deserves the right to decide what he can and cannot handle.

Mickey has always been the only person to fully understand that. When Fiona and Lip refused to see it, Mickey saw it and he took Ian’s side at every turn, shielding him from other people’s opinions, keeping him free from hospital for as long as he could and pushing him toward his GED and EMT training when no one else would.

Worse than the physical damage to Ian is the thought that Terry has finally broken Mickey’s confidence in him.

*

Mickey wakes to find Ian gone and is on his feet in a second. He most likely would have heard the door slam if Ian had gone out so he hurries upstairs to check for him there. Ian is leaning into their bedroom but not quite stepping over the threshold. He’s sipping a bottle of beer, shoulders protectively hunched and Mickey steps up to him quietly.

“Hey, you okay?”

Ian glances dismissively over his shoulder, all defiant chin and hard eyes and Mickey spreads his arms wide in sudden, sharp exasperation.

“What? What have I done now?”

“I didn’t say you’d done anything. Jesus!”

Ian’s chin juts out a little further and Mickey’s patience, which has been under too much strain the last few days, slips.

“Well I wish you fuckin’ would. One minute you’re all over me, the next you’re lookin’ at me like you fuckin’ hate me so I figure there is somethin’ you gotta get off your chest.”

“You have no fucking idea …”

Ian snaps and Mickey flinches but holds his ground, though when he answers his voice is smaller than Ian has ever heard it before.

“Yes. I do.”

“Fine! Then will you excuse me if I’m a little off for a couple of days? Is that OK with you? Or do you need to keep fucking asking if I’m alright?”

Ian’s voice cracks and Mickey feels like the world’s biggest asshole, thumbing his lip and then folding his arms apologetically before gesturing with his right, the word ‘FUCK’ flickering in and out of focus as his hand revolves in mid-air.

“You can take all the time you need and I will do whatever I can do to help, but you gotta talk to me, Ian. If you blame me, then tell me!”

“Blame you? Of course I don’t fucking blame you!”

Ian shakes his head incredulously, his eyes wide.

“Mick, this was in no way your fault. It was him!”

“But I made you stay here.”

“You didn’t make me do shit!”

Ian scoffs, taking an aggressive swig from his bottle and Mickey tightens his jaw

“Fine, then what is it? Because you’re looking at me like …”

“Did you help Terry get away?”

Ian blurts the question before he can think too much about it. The colour slowly leaves Mickey’s face, making the dark shadows under his eyes stand out starkly, surprise and hurt written across his features.

“No. I didn’t. And fuck you for thinking I would.”

“Then where the fuck is he? I know you came in and got me out but you don’t seem to give a shit that he is still out there!”

Mickey licks his bottom lip and closes his eyes briefly as understanding dawns

“Fuck.”

The word is soft, almost a sigh and Ian waits for him to say something more.

“Ian,”

Mickey steps forward and lays a very gentle hand on Ian’s arm and looks up at him, blue eyes troubled.

“He’s dead. Right now, I would think he’s in a few trash bags and about five feet underground. I doubt they’d have dug much deeper so …”

Ian’s hands bite into the pale flesh of Mickey’s upper arms hard enough to leave bruises. It hurts and Mickey glances down at them, eyebrows slightly raised, but doesn’t say anything or try to move away.

“What the fuck are you talking about? How is he dead? Who? … Did you …?”

Ian looks ready to lose his shit in an almighty way and then, just as quickly he deflates,

“Jesus, Mick. Are you alright?”

Mickey smiles slightly. Typical fucking Ian. Make a bitch of a fuss about something he needs and then drop it to worry about someone elses damn feelings.

“If you wanna hear it, sit your ass down and shut the fuck up. C’mon,”

Mickey claps a hand on Ian’s back and guides him into their room. Ian sits on the edge of their bed, Mickey beside him and listens to everything. Mickey tells him about the park, Svetlana’s text, finding Ian and carrying him downstairs. He tells him about the fight and about Svetlana. He doesn’t go into detail and Ian is grateful for that, his head is crowded enough.

Mickey has never been the sort to wear his heart on his sleeve but as he speaks; he threads his fingers through Ian’s own and squeezes tightly. When he finally stops, Ian cups his cheek gently.

“I’m sorry, Mickey.”

“Don’t be. What he did … nothin’ excuses that. He was a dead man the moment he fuckin’ set foot in this house, one way or another.”

Mickey shrugs and the matter of fact tone of his voice shocks Ian momentarily but then he remembers who Mickey was before they got together. He was dangerous and violent and yes, Mickey had made choices to change his life but Ian had never really seen them as proper choices. He had taken for granted that Mickey had just softened over the years, now he realised that every inch of ground gained, each burst of temper held in check, each punch pulled, they were all conscious decisions.

He sees Mickey in all his forms, true and plain and Ian wonders how he ever doubted the lengths that Mickey would go to protect him - to protect them.

“I …”

Mickey cuts Ian off and presses a firm kiss to the back of his hand. He hasn’t shaved in days and his stubble rasps warmly against Ian’s knuckles.

“You mean everything to me, Ian. You’re the strongest person I ever met but I wish it could have been me. Not you. It should never have been you.”

Mickey presses his lips together tightly and lifts his eyes to the ceiling, blinking rapidly.

“I just want you to know that.”

Ian’s jaw goes slack and the cold hammer of hatred that has been chipping away at him slow its furious pounding to a gentle tapping, before stopping.

“Mick…”

His fingertips trail delicately over Mickey’s chin, his lips, his eyelids; it is like reading a map of a familiar place and discovering a hidden trail that you never knew was there.

Words seldom fail Ian, he is a quiet man but when he needs to speak his voice is always there, always ready, but he has no words now and so he uses his mouth to cover Mickey’s and his tongue to draw them together. Mickey shifts his weight and gently pushes forward, his thighs spreading to pull Ian closer, as close as he dares.

He watches Ian through the feathered cracks of his lowered lashes, the half-light filtering through them blurs the discolouration of Ian’s face, glinting off golden stubble, and soft copper freckles. Emerald joins the display as Ian opens his eyes.

Ian lifts Mickey so that he is straddling his lap properly and grips the sturdy thighs on either side of his own, rasping his hands up and down the fabric, heat springing up beneath his palms.

They taste of beer and whisky and grilled cheese. The bed smells vaguely of warehouse dust and pine air-freshener. Outside kids are yelling and dogs are barking. Their bodies are battered and bruised and a little broken.

Mickey slowly pushes Ian backwards, covering him with his body and kissing every visible scrape, every blemish, his lips are soft and warm, a little swollen from Ian’s gentle biting.

Ian tips his head back, there is a noise of distress as Mickey notices the thick finger marks along Ian’s neck, and then those too are covered by Mickey’s mouth, his tongue flicking over them like balm. It is everything Ian needs.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly fluff because we have fricken' earned it! xxx

Mickey goes to collect Yevgeny at 5pm and Ian spends the fifteen minutes it take for them to get back staring anxiously in the bathroom mirror and attempting to cover the worst of his bruising with a mostly used up tube of foundation that Debs must have left the last time she came over. Mickey looks beat up too, though his nose is healing well and the bruising is starting to fade, the state of Ian’s face is still pretty dire and the thought of Yev shrinking away from him is awful.

Ian refused to let Yev in to see him when he was in the hospital. Mickey said he had come by once but Ian had been asleep so Yev hadn’t gone into his room and after he woke up, when his mind was still a blur, Ian had told Mickey not to let Yev come in when he arrived. He hadn’t been able to remember what had happened to him exactly but he knew it was dreadful and hadn’t wanted their son exposed to it so Mickey had taken Yev for post-soccer pie instead.

Ian sort of wishes Mickey could take Yevgeny for pie again now. He wants to see the little guy but a horrible part of Ian’s mind keeps imagining Yev turning his face away, hiding himself in Mickey’s side or asking to be taken back to Svetlana, unable to stand being around Ian.

He hears the front door open as Mickey and Yev arrive in a rush of childish chatter about school and deeper grunts of either agreement or disapproval, it is hard to tell the difference with Mick sometimes. The smell of pepperoni pizza float up the stairs and Ian hastily dabs one last bit of creamy paste onto his left eyelid, plasters a smile on his face and bounces down the stairs

“HEY! Where’s my boy?”

“DAD!”

Yev sprints from the kitchen and skids to a halt at the bottom of the stairs looking up at Ian in absolute shock. The welcoming smile on his face falters and then dies completely.

“Dad, your face!”

Panic flutters in Ian’s throat making his voice waver but he keeps his smile determinedly

“I got in a fight. It was dumb. I’m okay though.”

“A fight? With who?”

The bright blue eyes looking up at Ian hold a small glint of menace, brows lowering just a fraction. Yev is a proper mini-Mickey Milkovich and Ian wonders if his heart will ever get used to the rush of love the two of them can produce with just a look.

“No one you know, Mini Milk. Don’t worry about it.”

Ian makes a decision and pushes the fear of rejection away. He stubbornly ignores his busted ribs and aching back and swoops down on Yev, boosting him up in his arms and tossing him in the air and grinning up at the perfect little face.

Yev shrieks with delight at the unexpected play and locks his arms securely around Ian’s neck as he catches him, settling him on his hip. Yev is a little small for his age but even so Ian notices that the chubby features are beginning to harden into the promise of strong adult bones. His little snub nose straightening to match the knife-edge of his fathers and Ian squeezes him a little tighter, wondering how many more times Yev will let himself be held this way.

“Papa is gonna stomp the pants off whoever did that to you.”

Yev says earnestly peering at Ian’s bad eye sympathetically as Ian chuckles, nuzzling the little boy’s dark hair with his nose.

“I already did. And be careful of your Dad’s face.”

Mickey smiles, coming out of the kitchen drying his hands on a tea-towel. He can see the effort Ian is making for Yev and matches it, endeavouring to fit his mood to be what his family needs him to be.

“You guys wanna choose a movie? I can plate up.”

Ian glances at Yev and quirks one eyebrow before looking back to Mickey

“Didn’t you just get pizza?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Who eats pizza off a plate? Eat it out the fricken’ box!”

“Yeah Papa! Eat it out the fricken’ box!”

Yev choruses cheekily, giggling as Mickey eyes him with both brows up to his hairline, tongue caught between his teeth and head bobbing as if to say ‘Oh yeah, Tough Guy?’

“You two animals can’t keep the food in your mouths and it ends up all over the sofa if I don’t give you your own plates.”

“Not the sofa! Not our perfect, pristine sofa!”

Ian cries, faux dramatic, gesturing with the arm not wrapped around Yevgeny to the sorry, battered old two-seater. It’s once vibrant red dulled and worn with age, stuffing leaking out of a whole in the arm nearest them.

Mickey is grinning as well now, bulging out one cheek as he takes his teasing about as well as he is ever able to take it.

“Yeah, OK, well when you get a mouldy pepperoni stuck to your ass in a week or two, I don’t wanna hear about it.”

“We won’t say a word. Scouts honour.”

Ian holds up his middle three fingers, snapping to attention and Yev tries to do the same but can’t quite coordinate his hand and ends up just kind of waving at Mickey.

“Fine. We’ll eat it out the box.”

Mickey rolls his eyes as Ian cheers triumphantly and Yev joins in, cackling like a mad thing as Ian takes him on a victory lap of the room.

Everything feels almost normal. They eat on the sofa, Mickey slouched back with his feet on the coffee table, in charge of the remote because of course he has to be, Ian lounges diagonally at the other end, giving his longer legs a bit more room to spread out and Yev is tucked between them, the pizza box on his lap.

They watch the Addams Family, and Ian mouths Gomez’s best lines at Mickey over the top of Yev’s head, annunciating the lip-synced words with lascivious precision and Mickey grins widely at him, wetting his lips with no pretence of cool and taking a sharp intake of breath through his nose.

After the movie, they play board games, not Monopoly because Yev is already yawning but several intense rounds of Connect 4. In a moment of sulk, Yev releases the catch beneath the game, spilling the red and yellow discs across the table moments before Mickey can win and Mickey chases him around the sofa, both of them laughing until Yev dives behind Ian and yells

“GET HIM, DAD!”

And Ian joins the fray, quickly reversing the chase. Mickey bolts into the kitchen and ducks behind the counter, arming himself with left over pizza crusts that he pelts his assailants with, prompting Yev to quickly switch sides again, purely for the fun of hurling food across the room.

“What … what about … the … beautiful sofa?”

Ian laughs, gasping for breath and clutching his aching ribs

“Fuck the sofa!”

Mickey yells back, tossing another crust, and Yev echoes him which only makes both of his father’s laugh harder although Ian makes a half-hearted attempt to rein his boys in because Mickey is in full playful mode now and likely to encourage Yev if anything.

In response to his gentle reprimand, a piece of dough bounces off Ian’s forehead and he holds up his hands in surrender

“Okay, truce! I give up! You win!”

Mickey and Yev reveal themselves, both looking ridiculously smug, Yev faithfully copying his Papa’s swagger. Mickey brushes a few stray crumbs from Ian’s hair and pats his cheek lightly, his fingers lingering on the smudged make-up gathering in the laughter lines beside his eyes.

Blue eyes search across the depths of green, and whatever Mickey finds seems to please him because he gives a small contented sigh.

“Love ya.”

His voice is pitched low, but there is a warmth to his words that carries over and Ian breathes it in, storing it away to add to the small mental fortress he is building. Yev’s laughter, Mickey’s smile, Gomez’s lines, Mickey’s words.

“You too, Full Pint.”

Ian smirks, scrunching his nose a little and grinning. Mini-Milk and Full Pint. His boys, his family.

Yev is diligently picking up the pizza crusts, happily saying ‘Five second rule!’ and munching on the bits that have sauce on them, despite it being far longer than five seconds. Mickey glances down and frowns

“Hey! Don’t eat off the floor. Jesus. You still hungry? You ate like half the pizza!”

“He’s a growing boy!”

Ian laughs, picking up a piece himself and chewing it defiantly, giving Mickey a flash of chin and teeth. Mickey pulls a face and snatches Yev’s latest find from his hand before he can eat it.

“Ugh. You two are gross. Shit. Everyone in the car. If you gotta eat I’ll take you for ice cream.”

Mickey makes it sound like a chore but his eyes are shining as he grabs his keys and cigarettes and tosses the stolen crust into the trash.

The evening air is warm and a little sticky, the promise of rain hanging heavy in the atmosphere around them, but for now the sun is setting casting beautiful pink clouds across the sky and Ian glances over at Mickey as they buckle up, aware that this is South Side at its most beautiful.

Mickey has his window rolled down and his hand dangling out, cigarette between his fingers. He doesn’t smoke in the car with Yevgeny unless he can aim most of the smoke outside. He developed the habit after seeing a commercial about children passive smoking years ago, although if anyone asks, Mickey just says he prefers it.

Ian puts the radio on and a generic pop song about kissing boys fills the car. Mickey’s eyes flick toward the radio, a defensive habit born of years of repression. Ian notices him do it on the rare occasions they have visited Boys Town together, a quick glance at the people around them, an appraisal of their safety and obscurity in the crowd. Protecting a secret that is no longer there.

Mickey tucks the cigarette between his lips and switches hands on the wheel, reaching hesitantly toward the dial. Ian wants to still his hand but doesn’t move, watching Mickey discreetly to see what he’ll do.

“I like this song, Papa.”

Yev calls from the back. The tattooed fingers that had been hovering uncertainly quickly punch the volume button, and Mickey nods to his son in the mirror.

“Yeah, me too.”

Ian lets out the small breath he has been holding and closes his eyes letting the music wash over him, another brick added to his fortress.

*

Yev falls asleep on the drive back and Mickey carries him inside. It is beginning to rain, a light drizzle that sets crystals in Mickey’s hair and across the cuff of his sleeve as he raises his hand to shield Yevgeny.

“Jeez. He gets heavier every week.”

“Yeah he’s not a baby anymore is he?”

Ian sounds a little wistful and Mickey grins at him over the top of Yevgeny’s unruly dark hair as Ian lets them into the house.

“Don’t worry, he’ll always be your baby. Me personally, I’m looking forward to him being able to tie his own shoelaces without a fuckin’ pep talk.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.”

Ian pats Mickey’s ass fondly as he leans down to kiss Yevgeny’s temple.

“You gonna take him up?”

“Yeah, you coming? It’s early but I feel wiped out, man.”

Mickey looks it too and Ian nods, he isn’t tired really and it’s silly, but he doesn’t want to be on his own when his family is so close by.

“Yeah. I’ll be up in a minute.”

He watches Micky go and then pads over to the kitchen to take his meds. As always Mickey has arranged them for him and Ian finds himself unusually appreciative of that small familiar gesture. He washes them down and checks the back door is locked, then does the same for the front door. He checks the windows and begins to walk upstairs before doubling back and checking the back door once more.

He glances toward the front door but shakes his head firmly, planting his feet solidly. This is not a habit he is getting into. No way. He forces himself to head upstairs and push the lingering trepidations from his mind.

Yev’s light is already off so Ian brushes his teeth and pads through to Mickey.

“Oh…”

Ian pauses at the threshold and smiles wetly at the sight of his boyfriend and son both curled up in the big bed. Yev has rolled into Mickey’s chest, his head tucked under his father’s chin and Mickey is holding him close, one arm slung protectively across Yev’s middle, his bedtime story dangling loosely from curled fingers.

Mickey’s eyes flicker open as Ian slides into bed beside them.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Ian whispers back, settling on his side so that his is facing them both, lightly propped on one elbow

“You brought him in?”

“Yeah, figured one night can’t hurt.”

Mickey’s lip curls up in a sleepy smile as Ian brushes his hair back

“No it can’t hurt.”

Ian agrees. Mickey is silent for so long that Ian thinks he has fallen asleep and is slightly startled when he murmurs

“Will you read to me?”

“Huh?”

“The book. Yev’s asleep but I saved his place.”

“You want a story?”

Ian grins and Mickey bits his lip, frowning slightly

“No … I mean, not really. I just like your voice, the way you tell it … Forget it, I don’t …”

“Hey, no, Mick, of course I’ll read to you.”

Ian takes the offered book from Mickey’s hand, sitting up, careful not to jog the bed too much.

Blue eyes blink up at Ian uncertainly. Mickey seldom asks for little things like this, he has got better at doing so over the years but there is still an air of vulnerability about him each time and Ian makes a point to always do his best to comply, building Mickey’s confidence one small step at a time.

“You want me to start at the beginning?”

“Yeah.”

Mickey nods laying his hand on Ian’s thigh, stroking his thumb back and forth over the soft red hair. Ian makes a small show of finding the first page of story and running his finger down the page, clearing his throat softly.

Yevgeny takes the preparation of story time very seriously, and Ian would have bet his last dime that Mickey would be the same. Sure enough, he can feel Mickey’s eyes on him now, following his movements and there is a small shift as he gets into a more comfortable position to listen.

“Until he was four years old James Henry Trotter had had a happy life. He lived peacefully with his mother and father in a beautiful house by the sea …”

There is a comfort in those familiar words that goes beyond measure; like taking a warm sip of tea from a favourite mug. Ian balances the book in one hand and reaches down to rub his fingers lightly over Mickey’s knuckles.

Ian keeps reading, smiling to himself at the mumbled comments that come from the pillow beside him.

‘…fuckin rhino…’

‘…fuckin’ old bitches…’

‘…you think we should get Yev a cat?…”

Ian loves reading to Yevgeny but reading to Mickey is so much more entertaining and he can tell just how much Mickey is enjoying being read to by the unnatural stillness that has come over him. As Ian keeps going the comments become less frequent and Mickey’s breathing starts to become heavier. Ian wouldn’t have credited it as possible and most people in the neighbourhood wouldn’t believe him, but when he glances to his left, he realises that he has just read Mickey Milkovich to sleep. Ian turns off the lamp and carefully folds the corner of the page over, before sliding back down the bed and wrapping his arm protectively across the two loves of his life.

*

Glass shatters outside and Mickey is crouched beside the bed, butterfly knife in hand before he is even fully awake. The sound of drunks laughing fades into the night and Mickey draws a deep breath through his nose, coming back to himself as the last hazes of sleep leave him.

The room is dark but he can make out the twin forms of Ian and Yev and he takes a moment to draw the sheets he threw off back over them before padding downstairs, flicking the blade back and forth absentmindedly. The doors and windows are locked, the yard is undisturbed. Everything is as it should be but Mickey’s heart is thudding in his chest and sweat is prickling under his armpits.

He checks each room until he is satisfied that no one else is in the house and then wearily makes his way back upstairs. He doesn’t try to get back into bed because Yev has used the opportunity to spread his arms and legs out ‘starfish’ style and Mickey doesn’t really want to move him.

He had tucked Yev in with them for Ian. Taking care of things is a vocation for his boyfriend, the sort of need that Mickey always thought of as kind of self-indulgent until he got to see it close up. Yevgeny is a bold little guy but he is still Ian’s kid and nurturing him has always given Ian a focus away from any other horrible shit that is going on. He takes care of Mickey too of course but it isn’t the same and Mickey knows it. Ian needs him, but for his first night back in this room, after all that he has been through, he needed Yevgeny more.

Mickey sighs and lays down on the floor beside the bed, the hard wood familiar even after years of sharing a comfortable mattress with Ian. Mickey can hear the rain, heavier now, pattering across the roof and swilling in the guttering. He closes his eyes but opens them again and shudders, haunted by the vision of iris’ the colour of murky puddles.

He lies there until pale sunlight begins to filter through the windows and then carefully budges Yev over, slipping back into the warmth of the bed. His legs are cold and Yev curls away with a huff that makes Mickey grin.

By the time Ian wakes up at 7am to take his pills, Mickey and Yev are once again flopped across the bed, both in a deep sleep that Ian’s gentle forehead kisses do nothing to rouse them from. Ian sighs, stretches, and begins his day.


	11. Chapter 11

Lip arrives as Ian is blending a breakfast smoothie for Yevgeny and adding a dash of nutmeg to Mickey’s coffee pot. Ian doesn’t have a chance to say more than hello before Lip is pushing past him, storming into the house

“MICKEY! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU, ASSHOLE?”

“Lip! What the fuck?”

Ian grabs his irate brother’s jacket and tries to haul him back. Ordinarily Ian overpowers Lip easily, he is taller and outweighs him by thirty pounds since Lip took to his latest detox. Today though, fury is propelling Lip forward and Ian merely slows his step.

“MICKEY!”

The sound of feet hitting the floor upstairs makes both men look up. Ian grabs hold of Lip’s arm properly and hisses

“Yevgeny is up there!”

“Then tell that fuc… You!”

Lip lunges forward as Mickey appears on the stairs. He is in a tank top and a pair of what are clearly Ian’s jeans from the way they bunch loosely at Mickey’s ankles.

“What the fuck are you yellin’ about, shithead?”

Mickey is rubbing sleep from his eyes as he comes down the stairs but his body is thrumming with readiness for a fight. Ian places himself between his brother and boyfriend, hands raised defensively

“Lip, what the fuck is going on?”

“I’d like to know that too.”

Mickey’s fists are curled gently by his side, top lip twisted upwards in a challenging sneer. Lip is all clenched jaw and huge eyes. Neither looks at all impressed with the display of the other, but Mickey is on home turf and his blood is getting hotter with every second Lip stares at him.

“Cat got your fuckin’ tongue, Philip?”

“You’re a piece of shit.”

Lip spits and Mickey pushes forward aggressively, relenting only slightly as Ian firmly presses his palm against his chest.

“Mick – don’t. Yev is upstairs.”

Blue eyes flick briefly toward Ian and then back to Lip.

“Yeah, and he just got woken up with a nasty fuckin’ start, so why don’t we go outside?”

Lip nods curtly and both exit the house, brushing roughly past Ian.

“Dad? What’s going on?”

Yev is peering around the banister, his bottom lip caught anxiously between his teeth.

“Papa and Uncle Lip are working something out.”

Ian hurries up the stairs, smiling brightly as he lifts Yevgeny and carries him through to the kitchen. Whatever is going on outside is going to happen with or without him and Yev is his priority for the moment.

“What is it? They sound really mad.”

“I’m not actually too sure, here, drink your smoothie.”

Ian sits Yev on the kitchen counter and hands him a plastic beaker of banana and blueberry, extra honey because Yev seems to have an almost inhuman tolerance for sweetness. There are muffled shouts coming from outside.

“I’ll be right back, buddy. Stay there.”

Ian kisses Yev’s forehead and hands him his phone, already unlocked with one of the many brightly coloured games Ian has downloaded for him, flashing on the screen.

He walks as calmly as he can across the room and gives Yev a cheery wave as he opens the front door and steps out. Ian closes the door lightly behind him, the smile on his lips turning to a round ‘O’ of shock as he sees Mickey straddling Lip on the ground, hands wrapped around his throat.

“JESUS!”

Ian is down the steps in an instant. He doesn’t allow himself time to think about it too much, just take aim and boots Mickey in the ass hard enough to knock him off Lip’s chest.

“The fuck, Ian?”

Mickey grabs his right cheek and hobbles upright, turning to glower at both Gallagher’s. He starts to move in again and Ian holds up a warning finger.

“No! Whatever is going on … Hey! I said no, Mickey.”

Mickey sucks his teeth but stops his advance, swaying on the spot and rolling his shoulders. Ian is reminded of the Raptor scene in Jurassic World, the hero holding the dinosaurs at bay with sheer force of will, unsure how long his command would hold before he’d get his face ripped off.

He almost laughs but then Lip is sitting up, coughing and trying to haul his stupid, stubborn ass off the ground.

“Just fucking stay down. Save yourself the embarrassment.”

Ian snaps irritably.

The words are carefully chosen and have the desired effect on both men.

Lip spits to the side and folds his arms lightly around his knees, logic prevailing over blood-lust.

Mickey preens, chest puffing out, smirking slightly at Ian’s obvious faith in his ability to kick Lip’s ass.

“Did you win, Papa?”

Yev calls from the porch. He is holding his little league baseball bat uncertainly in one hand and his smoothie in the other a small concerned frown creasing his brow. Mickey gives him a thumbs up and nods, grinning broadly

“Yeah buddy, sure did.”

Ian rolls his eyes skyward and makes an exasperated gesture

“Yev, will you go back inside please? And put the bat away.”

“But …”

“IN!”

Ian yells and Yev disappears swiftly. Ian doens’t often yell but when he does, both Milkovich’s tend to comply, though the larger one is a little less predictable.

“Even my kid knows he could fuck you up, asshole. He’s seven.”

Mickey gives Lip a bored look and shakes his head elaborately at the shame of such a thing. Lip snorts and wipes a bloody string of snot from his nose

“You must be so proud.”

Ian is getting to the end of his patience with both of them and his nerves are shot.

“What the Hell is going on?”

“Your brother thinks I messed your face up, because apparently some shit-stain he knows saw us at the ice cream store and thought my way of making up for a beat down would be to get you a double scoop of fuckin’ pistachio.”

Lip shrugs and stands up slowly, eyeing Mickey as if expecting another rumble.

“Yeah pretty much. But apparently it wasn’t him.”

“Apparently.”

Mickey spits, voice dripping with sarcasm. Lip ignores him and turns to Ian, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“So what the fuck happened to you?”

Ian glances to Mickey who folds his arms and blinks slowly, raising one shoulder a fraction. It is Ian’s call and Mickey will back up whatever he chooses to say, truth or not.

Ian weighs his options. He is not about to go into everything with Lip in the middle of the yard, the curtains are already twitching after his scuffle with Mickey. More than that, Yev might not be in plain sight but he’s near by. Ian glances back to the house and sure enough a scuff of blue converse quickly tucks out of view behind the door.

“We’re dropping Yev off after breakfast, if you wanna come by, we can talk. All of us. Like adults.”

Ian divides his gaze equally between his brother and his lover as he says this and both shift their eyes away from his.

“Sure. Sure, I can do that.”

Lip nods and glances across at Mickey.

“Sorry I thought it was you.”

“Sorry I kicked your ass.”

Lip accepts the painfully insincere apology as his due and turns to his little brother, opening his arms and smiling as Ian steps easily into his embrace

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. See you later, alright?”

They slap backs and Lip staggers back toward his car, massaging his throat.

Mickey sniffs dismissively after him and turns to Ian, lips lightly compressed in a frown

“Your brother is a dick.”

“I know. But did you have to strangle him?”

“No, felt good though. Or at least it did until some other prick treated my ass like a damn football.”

Ian’s lip curls in a small smile and he snakes an arm around Mickey’s tense shoulders, drawing him in against his side.

“I know what that ass can handle.”

“Fuck off. Now is not the time for your randy macho bullshit.”

Mickey says irritably but his tone is light and Ian risks a kiss to his temple, which Mickey accepts with a small grunt.

“We need to have talk with Yev about that bat.”

Ian muses, stroking Mickey’s arm lightly, working his thumb into the knotted muscles around his collar bone in just the right way to make Mickey forget his annoyance.

“Mmm. Yeah, fine. I’ll do it.”

“Yeah?”

Ian raises his eyesbrows in mild surprise. Mickey is pretty good with on the spot discipline but planning out talks is not really his style.

“Yeah, he comes out the house with that little thing, only pussies like your brother are gonna think twice. He needs to get my steel one.”

“No.”

Ian says flatly, pressing his index finger against Mickey’s lips.

“Wrong direction, Mick.”

“What? You thinking a gun maybe?”

Mickey mumbles around Ian’s finger, eyes wide and innocent. For a moment Ian scowls at him and then he realises he is having his balls busted and he flicks Mickey’s chin gently.

“Dick.”

“Asshole.”

*

 

Yev is reluctant to go home. He clings to Mickey with unaccustomed neediness that Ian feels instantly a little jealous of and then immediately foolish for being jealous of such a thing. Mickey for his part seems completely unsure of what to do with the extra attention and frowns as Yev clambers onto his lap at the breakfast table.

“Come on, man. How am I gonna eat with you in the way?”

“I’ll move when your eggs are done.”

Yev states firmly and wraps his arms around Mickey’s chest, pressing his cheek against his father’s shirt. Mickey’s tongue appears briefly as he battles impatience but after a moment he settles his hand on Yev’s back and leans back in his chair so the kid isn’t crushed between him and the table edge.

“Can I stay over tonight?”

Yev doesn’t lift his face up and Mickey seeks out Ian’s eyes over the top of his head.

Ian nods and gives a small shrug.

“You’ll have to ask your Mom but yeah, if she’s okay with it.”

“Can you text her?”

“Nah, go call.”

“I’ll do it in a minute.”

Yev mumbles, tightening his grip on his Papa. Ian plates up Mickey’s eggs and carries them over, a small frown between his brows.

“You okay, Yev? Feeling sick or something?”

“No. Just happy here.”

Yev is normally a chatty kid but like Mickey, when he is feeling a strong emotion he tends to go quiet, using his words sparingly and Ian strokes his hair, a little worried. Mickey tries to manoeuvre his son out of the way so he can eat but Yev refuses to budge and short of actually putting him on the floor Mickey isn’t sure what to do, so he sits and watches the steam rise from his untouched plate.

“Is this a thing now? You just gonna hang out here on my lap forever?”

Yev shrugs and Mickey grimaces at Ian. He is pretty much out of his incredibly limited child psychology and normally if Yev feels clingy it is Ian he goes all weird limpet- child on. Ian takes a seat besides them both and rubs gentle circles on Yevgeny’s back, putting his face on Yev’s level.

“You wanna sit with me while Papa eats his breakfast?”

Blue eyes blink at Ian suspiciously and Ian gives his most encouraging smile and holds out his arms. Yev seems to decide that this is not a trick of some sort and reluctantly lets go of Mickey, shifting himself onto Ian and then latching on just as tightly.

“What’s up? You can tell me.”

Ian keeps up his smile and the little comforting circles and waits. Mickey stays silent, his own version of patient support.

“You both keep getting beat up.”

Yev says at last. He doesn’t let go but with the words out he loosens his grip a little and glances up at his Dad.

“Oh, yeah, no. It’s just been a bad couple of days.”

It sounds lame even to Ian and Mickey gives him a quick frown, letting him know that it most definitely sounded lame.

“We’ll be more careful, okay?”

“Even Uncle Lip wanted to beat Papa up. Why?”

Yev is warming to his theme and Mickey hastily scoops some of the semi-warm egg into his mouth, realising they could be here a while.

“Uncle Lip thought I beat Dad up. He was just protecting his brother.”

“But you wouldn’t beat Dad up!”

“No, I wouldn’t. Uncle Lip is an idiot and he got … confused.”

Mickey manages to make the word ‘confused’ sound as dirty as a profanity and Ian tilts his head, giving Mickey a vexed look.

“So who did? And why?”

“Some asshole who shouldv’e known better. And he did it because … because he was jealous of Dad, I think.”

Mickey looks directly at Yevgeny as he says this, not daring to look at Ian.

Ian swallows and holds Yev a little tighter. He and Mickey haven’t spoken about Terry’s motives beyond blind hate. Ian hasn’t had the head space to think about them himself and he wonders when exactly Mickey has been mulling this over. If it is new, or an old train of thought dragged into focus because of the events of the last week.

“Why?”

“Because,”

Mickey pauses to fork more egg into his mouth, chew and swallow and then pushes the barely touched plate away. Yev reaches out to go back onto Mickey’s lap but Mickey ignores his outstretched arms discreetly.

“Because Dad is everything that person didn’t like. Dad is good and decent, honest … pretty.”

Mickey flicks his eyes up and gives Ian a small flash of smile at the last word.

“People don’t like what they don’t understand, this guy never understood your Dad.”

“Oh. Well … does he understand him now?”

Yev has no idea how loaded that question is. Even Ian can’t fully understand.

*Dad, please don’t … *

The gun barrel dipping the tiniest bit and Terry half glancing toward Mickey, not stopping but paused for a mere second. It was a second more consideration than he had ever given his youngest son before and Mickey wishes he could forget it.

He winces slightly, a nerve by his right eye jumping, but nods bravely and gives a short, heavy exhalation.

“Yeah, Bud. He understood in the end. At least a little bit.”

Ian has no clue what the fuck that is referring to and he tries to read Mickey’s expression for answers but that old mask of indifference is firmly in place and Ian can’t see around the edges.

“Does Uncle Lip understand too?”

The question breaks the storm of Mickey’s memory and he blinks a couple of times before grinning, his expression softening.

“Uncle Lip never understands shit. But he’s family so we put up with him.”

Ian bounces Yev on his lap lightly and smooths his hair back from his face

“So you don’t need to worry about anything, okay?”

“Can I stay anyway?”

“This is your home, you’re always welcome, silly!”

Ian smiles and Yev’s lip quirks upwards slightly.

“I’ll call Mom.”

He slides off Ian’s lap and takes the cellphone Ian offers him, wandering into the other room as he has seen people do to make important calls.

Both his father’s know that this isn’t a simple fix. Yev isn’t a baby and he isn’t stupid. Like most kids in South Side he has seen and heard far more than his parents would like but he is only just starting to reach the age where he really observes it. Ian thinks of the baseball bat on the porch and his heart sinks a little. He and Mickey talk about college. Svetlana speaks of the jobs Yevgeny will have the opportunity to apply for. Mickey gives Yev a small allowance to put him off stealing candy. They do little things but they are going to need to do more.

He thinks of Lip barging in and is suddenly pissed of in a major way. Neither of them are bad father’s, Svetlana isn’t a bad mother. Why the fuck can’t they manage to shield him from this crap?

“South Side, man.”

Mickey is watching the play of emotions on Ian’s face and he shrugs, a rueful little gesture full of quiet understanding.

“Sometimes I hate it.”

Ian says quietly and Mickey nods in understanding.

“He’ll be fine. We’re doing okay, you know? He’s great.”

“He is. He deserves so much, Mick.”

“And we give what we fuckin’ can. Don’t get all mopey and shit on me.”

Mickey takes his half eaten breakfast over to the sink, pausing to kiss Ian’s head and squeeze his shoulder lightly.

“Text Philip and tell him to meet us at the park. Yev needs to let off some steam.”

Ian nods and sighs grateful for the plan. He waits for Yev to bring his phone back and texts his brother.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, this is something of a bridge chapter and probably about the middle point of the story, I messed it up and had to re-draft so sorry about the delay but here we are :) Thanks for reading.

Lip spots his brother sat on a bench from the gated entrance of the park and waves his free hand over his head in greeting. He knows that Mickey must be around somewhere, he doesn’t usually leave Ian’s side for more than a minute unless he has to. To Lip that shit is weirdly possessive but Ian doesn’t seem to mind it, in fact his brother seems to actively enjoy it.

Lip shifts the cardboard tray of Starbucks drinks to his other hand, closing the gate behind him. He winces as his bruised ribs stretch with the movement. Storming into Ian and Mickey’s house like that had been a few steps short of suicidal, but only a few. Mickey might be a human guard-dog when it comes to Ian, but to most other people, he’s still a dangerous guy with a short temper. Lip thinks he probably got some sort of ‘extended family beat-down discount’ because he’s not actually that fucked up, but he still got his ass handed to him.

Thinking back on his attempted rescue this morning it had been a really fucking stupid thing to do and fuck Archie for planting the seed that it was Mickey who messed Ian’s face up. Nearly eight years have gone by and in that time, there have been arguments; Ian has occasionally stormed back to the Gallagher house for a night or two over some row or another but Mickey has never been abusive.

Lip expected him to be. Everyone expected a Milkovich, gay or not, to be an abusive piece of shit once the honeymoon period wore off. But Mickey is devoted to Ian. The word ‘faithful’ springs to mind and Lip grunts in surprise at his own minds conjuring, but there is no denying that is the word for it. Mickey is faithful to Ian, in every sense. Maybe more so even than Lip has been throughout their late-teens and twenties.

Lip wasn’t the one at clinics waiting for meds, he wasn’t the one helping Ian take small sips of water and make it to the bathroom when he was too depressed to move. He hasn’t actually done a whole lot for his brother in the last decade that wasn’t in some way just following Mickey’s lead.

He runs his hands over the bruises at his throat and rolls his eyes. Fucking idiot.

“Lip!”

As if conjured, Mickey is waving at him from the playground, a bright smile on his face, making Lip jump and nearly spilling the crappy peace-offering everywhere. Lip knows that smile. Every guy in South Side who has ever owed a Milkovich money or laid an unwanted hand on Mandy, knows that smile.

“Hey, Mickey.”

Lip looks anxiously toward Ian who is watching placidly from the park bench he is sprawled across and then realises what he is doing and squares his shoulders. It would suck if Mickey decided to go for round two but Lip is not going to hide behind his little brother to prevent it.

“Thanks for coming, man. I’m sorry about earlier. How you doin’?”

Mickey hops over the brightly painted dividing fence and claps a hand on Lip’s shoulder, maybe a bit harder than necessary but not exactly aggressive and still with that weirdly handsome and utterly terrifying smile.

“Er… yeah. Okay.”

Lip looks from the tattooed knuckles that make him want to roll his eyes every time he sees them to Mickey’s face, his eyebrows raised in his usual sardonic manner.

Mickey’s smile tightens at the corners as Lip makes his appraisal but doesn’t shift and Lip wonders what the fuck is going on before noticing an identical pair of blue eyes watching them intently from the top of the slide. Of course. They’re playing nice for their audience, no doubt at Ian’s order. 

Lip might not be the biggest fan of Mickey but he does like his kid and essentially, Yevgeny is Ian’s son too so fine! Lip lets himself smile back and nods happily

“Hey, yeah, I’m sorry about before. My bad, man.”

He raises his voice to be sure that Yev will hear this and offers Mickey his hand. The handshake is brusque but solid enough. Mickey glances across at Ian who is stretching and standing up, strolling over to them with a smirk on his face.

Lip returns his laconic smile. He can’t help thinking of nature programs on the Discovery Channel about wolves and how the Alpha of the pack will take control and assume command naturally. That’s his little brother now. Pure fucking Alpha and Lip never even noticed the change happening. He wonders if Mickey noticed the power shift as it happened or whether it surprised him too … and how the Hell did Ian manage to tame a Milkovich anyway… actually, Lip doesn’t want to know.

*

“You brought coffee?”

“Peace offering. I got Soy Cappuccino, Strawberry Frappe for Yev, gingerbread latte and a mocha flat.”

Lip nods to Mickey who is tonguing his lip self-consciously. It isn’t that he can’t afford Starbucks, though once upon a time that would have bothered him, it isn’t even that the iconic little cups make him think of middle-class soccer mom’s desperate for an affair with the coach, it is that Lip is holding the tray so damn casually, like he has been doing it his whole life, whilst Mickey isn’t entirely sure what three of those things are.

“Which ones mine?”

Ian asks, plucking Yevgeny’s drink out.

“Whatever you want. I don’t mind.”

“Mick? What do you want?”

Mickey wants Yev’s drink because it looks fucking awesome, all cream and … cookie? Shit. He glances back to the less interesting looking cups and shrugs nonchalantly

“I’ll have the … ginger one.”

Lip snorts and Mickey gives him the finger before accepting the cup Ian passes him. He would have had the mocha if he know what it was or the cappuccino but what the fuck is soy sauce doing in coffee? Gross fuckin’ hipster bullshit.

Yev is handed his drink and the three men go sit on the bench while Yev goes back to play. Mickey is sipping cautiously at his latte, which is annoyingly delicious.

Lip and Ian, less enthused with the novelty, are studying each other and trying to work out how to begin the conversation.

“So why do you look like shit?”

Lip asks finally and Ian grins at him. There was a time that Lip knew everything about Ian. It wasn’t until Ian realised that he was gay that he had a secret from Lip. But it had been a big secret to keep and had changed things between them a little, forcing Lip to see Ian as a person separate to their bond.

“I wanna tell you, but you need to listen. Quietly. And you can’t tell Fiona.”

“Okay.”

Lip balances his cup on his knee and produces a pack of cigarettes, lighting up smoothly and offering the packet round. Ian takes one but Mickey doesn’t.

“You want me to stay or …?”

Mickey is looking at Ian with a small frown between his brows.

“Up to you.”

Mickey licks his lip, he very clearly wants to leave but Ian is here so Mickey is staying put. Lip rolls his eyes and ignores the small stab of jealousy that tucks under his ribs.

Ian does all the talking and Lip listens carefully, his expression darkening with shock and then utter hatred. Ian gets past the worst of it, skimming over the details and letting Lip put the pieces together himself which he does with absolute horror.

“Jesus, Ian! That’s … I …”

“I’m okay, it was fucked up but Mickey got me out …”

Ian threads his fingers through Mickey’s as his boyfriend jerks, shocked to hear his name. Lip snorts angrily and shakes his head

“Got you out? It’s his fault you were there!”

Lip turns his attention to Mickey, upper-lip curling snarl.

“You know this is your fault, right? You literally brought this shit to your doorstep because your Dad fucking hates you and you’re too stupid to see it.”

Mickey squints off to the side and cricks his neck, resolutely silent. He doesn’t disagree with any of that. Not really. But this conversation is between Ian and his brother and Mickey doesn’t need to justify anything to Lip, not even if he thinks it’s true.

“Hey!”

Ian shoves his brother’s shoulder, hard, pushing him backwards out of Mickey’s space.

“Do not put this on him. Mickey did nothing wrong,”

Turning to Mickey, Ian repeats clearly and confidently, gripping his leg hard until Mickey flicks his gaze briefly in Ian’s direction.

“You did nothing wrong.”

Lip doesn’t have the patience to watch Ian coaxing Mickey out of what is clearly a shame-spiral of sorts. The stupidity of leaving his brother alone with Terry on the loose … Jesus!

“So where the fuck is Terry now?”

“The asshole is fuckin’ dead.”

Mickey says bluntly, not trusting himself to say more but not willing to hide in his silence either. He doesn’t look at either of the Gallagher brother’s but his fingers touch Ian’s knee lightly as he stands and walks over to Yevgeny, throwing his coffee cup into a nearby trash can so hard that the dregs explode upwards in a shower of creamy droplets.

Ian gives his brother his best ‘what the fuck?’ look and Lip shrugs.

“What part of what I said was wrong?”

“All of it! Mickey isn’t responsible for his father any more than we’re responsible for Frank.”

Lip sniffs heavily, as he always done when out argued and not wanting to admit it.

“So who killed Terry then? Won’t have been him.”

Lip jerks his chin toward Mickey’s retreating form and Ian frowns but tells Lip the rest. Lip nods and folds his arms defensively.

“He deserved to fuckin’ die long before someone finally offed him.”

Lip drains his coffee cup, nodding to himself. Ian hesitates and then asks the question that has been bugging him.

“Why did you say it wouldn’t have been Mickey?”

Lip shrugs and looks over to the playground where Mickey is now watching Yevgeny play, obediently following the little boy’s instructions to watch him do this and that.

“Cause Mickey loved the old bastard. Honestly, Ian, I know you think the Milkovich’s are no more fucked up than we are, but trust me, they are. Mickey used to worship the ground Terry walked on, like fucking Stockholm Syndrome or something, that doesn’t go away easily.”

Ian shuffles uncomfortably on the bench and shakes his head

“No, man. I mean after Mickey came out and his Dad got sent down again, he was done with Terry. Never visited him, never wrote to him…”

“Doesn’t mean he stopped caring. Listen, I just figured it wouldn’t have been him who pulled the trigger. Not even for you. Turns out, I was right, it was Svetlana. Tough fuckin’ bitch!”

Lip grins as he lights another cigarette, offering Ian one and then lighting them both up. Ian smokes quietly mulling over what Lip has said. Did Mickey still love Terry? Ian cannot imagine it. He’s hated Frank since he was a teenager, wouldn’t give a fuck if he died and would probably not really think much about it and compared to Terry, Frank has been a passable excuse of a father.

Ian watches as Yev charges away from the swings, Mickey calling out to him to watch his step and then picking up Yev’s discarded sweater from the ground, dusting it off and trailing after their son.

Ian knows that Mickey hasn’t been sleeping well, he knows that he feels vulnerable, they both do! But he hadn’t really considered that Mickey might actually be grieving. Not really.

The thought makes Ian’s skin feel a little tight and clammy, like he is stuck on a crowded train with the heating on full blast and he doesn’t have room to shrug his coat off. He doesn’t want Mickey to be grieving for Terry but worse would be if he were doing it silently and alone because he thinks he can’t tell Ian.

Lip watches thoughts flicker across his little brother’s face and sighs. Ian has always been the odd one out. The third child, the middle son, the cuckoo in the nest with his flaming hair and quiet nature and even something as horrible as this, he is dealing with it quietly and in his own way.

“You good? I mean, not actually good, but coping?””

“Yeah I’m fine.”

Ian nods and accepts Lip’s embrace.

“If you need anything, call me. I’ll be here. And I’m sorry for causing shit this morning. I was an asshole.”

“Yeah but that’s not exactly new territory for you.”

Ian smirks and Lip grins back, nodding

“You think I should say bye to Mickey and Yev?”

Ian glances over to the climbing frame Yev is dangling upside down from, giggling at Mickey who is clearly trying to coax him down.

“Nah, at least one of them is royally pissed at you.”

“The little one or the kid?”

“Fuck off, Lip.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Chap 13 - NSFW
> 
> Guys, apologies for not replying to your comments on my last chapter and other fics yet.   
> It's been a really crazy couple of days and I like to make sure I am replying in kind, which means taking time to think about your posts.  
> This chapter took a little longer to write than I expected tonight so I'm completely behind. 
> 
> So I'm going to post and turn in for now (11pm Manc. UK) but tomorrow I'm going to reply to everyone. Thank you so much for following this story and for all the love and encouragement.
> 
> Han xx

“Night Papa, Night Dad.”

Yev murmurs sleepily as Mickey shoos Ian out of the way and closes the door softly behind them.

“Jesus Christ. I thought he was gonna stay awake all night.”

Mickey runs a hand over his face and groans, pinching the bridge of his nose before blinking up at Ian blearily.

“I’m fuckin’ beat, man.”

Ian makes a sympathetic noise at the back of his throat and runs his thumb along the edge of Mickey’s jaw, rasping over the stubble, which is now threatening to become an actual beard.

“You didn’t sleep well at all, did you?”

Mickey is too tired to lie and shakes his head.

“No. The rain was fuckin’ intense and Yev wriggles around like a fuckin’ grub.”

As he speaks his upper lip curls in that long-suffering expression that never fails to amuse Ian, even when he tries not to show it. Tonight though, Ian smiles faintly and nods toward their bedroom.

“Go get into bed, I’ll bring us a couple of beers and we can watch ‘Hard to Kill’.

Mickey’s face brightens instantly. He fucking loves Steven Seagal and ‘Hard to Kill’ is an awesome movie.

“Cool. Not sure I’ll stay awake for the whole thing though.”

“That’s fine.”

Ian kisses his forehead and unexpectedly pats his ass, firmly, the way Mickey likes it, before moving past him down the stairs. He glances over his shoulder and sees his boyfriend smirking at him.

“What?”

“You fuckin’ know what.”

“Thought you were tired?”

Ian raises his eyebrow innocently and Mickey catches his lip between his teeth, tugging it slightly inward and unconsciously adjusting the bulge in his pants.

“Never too tired for that.”

He bobs his head with the shit-eating grin that he knows Ian can’t resist and sure enough a flicker of very genuine desire flits across Ian’s face.

“I’ll be there in a minute, ok?”

Mickey nods, watching Ian disappear down the rest of the stairs. He doesn’t know if Ian is ready yet, Ian probably doesn’t know himself until he tries it, but Mickey isn’t worried. He’ll do whatever Ian wants to do and if they get half-way and have to stop – well so that fuck what? No one ever died of not cumming.

There is more to it than that but Mickey doesn’t want to think too much about that, so he puts on his swagger even though no one is watching and bowls into their room.

*

By the time Ian comes back, Mickey is sprawled out in his boxers, cigarette dangling from his lips, another tucked behind his ear and the opening credits of ‘Hard to Kill’ paused on screen, looking more relaxed than he has in days. Not in Papa mode, not in protective boyfriend mode, just completely himself.

Ian’s eyes roam across his body, the soft muscular flesh of his upper arms, the immaculate tuck of his hips, sturdy legs and broad, neat feet. He wants Mickey with an almost desperate need but doesn’t know if either of them can manage it yet. Ian’s body is still coloured with bruises and welts, he looks ugly and Mickey has seen them but not intimately. It might be seriously off-putting!

Also Ian’s mind is a slippery plane that he isn’t quite certain of. One wrong step in one direction and he is a crying mess, in another direction he is filled with violent rage and he won’t risk taking that out on Mickey.

Ian hands his boyfriend a bottle of beer and as he settles back on the bed beside Mickey, they clink the bottlenecks and both take appreciative swigs.

“Damn.”

Ian laughs and tips his head back, resting it against Mickey’s bare shoulder.

“This feels like the longest fucking two weeks ever.”

Mickey kisses the soft copper of Ian’s hair and nods

“Yeah it fuckin’ does.”

He has the remote in his hand but doesn’t press play, just lets his head gently rest against Ian’s, thumbing the neat rubber buttons. Both of them are simply enjoying being in each other’s company, alone in the quiet of their room.

“It’s been a weird day too.”

“Yeah. Sorry I strangled your brother.”

Mickey doesn’t exactly sound sorry but the thought is there and Ian grins up at him

“Sorry my brother deserved strangling.”

He starts trailing his hand lazily up Mickey’s thigh and back down again. It is a small motion but makes Mickey’s pulse quicken and Ian hears his breath catch as he grunts and slips his hand under Ian’s shirt, not demanding or cajoling, just enjoying the feel of his palm against his boyfriend’s warm belly.

They’re moving slowly, pausing at each familiar touch. Mickey drops the remote onto the comforter and rolls onto his side, pushing Ian’s shirt a little higher, bending to kiss the soft skin of his ribcage, his lips brushing delicately over the discolouration, every now and then raising his gaze to meet Ian’s own.

Ian pulls his shirt off and drops it on the floor. He lifts Mickey’s chin with the edge of his index finger, drawing him upwards and setting his own lips at the base of his lover’s throat. It has been years since Mickey went more than a day without shaving and Ian had forgotten how quickly his facial hair grows, how dark it is and how thick. He dabs his tongue out against the prickly line of Mickey’s jaw making them both smile.

“You like me hairy?”

“I like you however you are.”

Ian mumbles, his erotic explorations softening into a gentle enfolding hug, his face buried in Mickey’s neck.

“God, I love how you smell.”

Ian breathes him in deeply and closes his eyes, contentment playing in the corner of his smile.

They stay like that for a while and then Ian makes a little noise at the back of his throat a question and a command rolled into one. He slides his hand higher up Mickey’s thigh, he wants so badly to please him, to please himself, to take in the familiar comfort of their bed and lose himself in Mickey completely.

All the same, as Mickey’s fingers dip into the waistband of his pants, softly cupping the hot weight of his balls, panic flutters in Ian’s chest. Mickey’s tongue touches Ian’s lip as they kiss, and Ian finds himself turning his cheek away, needing to catch his breath. He sees the outline of an erection straining against his boyfriend’s boxers and Ian shudders involuntarily. It is no more than a small tremor but Mickey freezes and slowly, carefully, removes his hand from Ian’s pants, realising as he does so that Ian’s dick is completely soft.

“You don’t have to …”

“Shut the fuck up and come here…”

Mickey cuts across him, his tone gentle compared to the words he speaks, wrapping his arm around Ian’s shoulders, pulling him in close again. Ian tips his head slightly, looking up at the profile of Mickey’s jaw, fingertips gently stroking the neatly formed chin.

“Mick, I really want to. You know that right?”

Mickey presses his lips together and nods. He is trying not to look bothered but his eyes are worried and Ian hates that he is the cause.

“I’m so sorry, I know you want to get back to normal.”

Mickey smiles and hits play on the DVD remote

“What the fuck is normal around here? It’s South Side, bitch.”

*

As the movie rolls on, Ian mulls over what Lip said. When it comes to his brother, Ian normally has a pretty good idea of where things are coming from and why. Lip doesn’t like Mickey. Never has, probably never will. Ian is fine with that, if anything it’s actually a little bit of a relief because Ian doesn’t really want to be with someone Lip would approve of.

Ian likes that Mickey is his diamond in the rough, he likes that not everyone gets him and that there are so many small, wonderful qualities that Mickey chooses to only share with him. They fit together so well that sometimes Ian forgets where he ends, Mickey begins, and where the seam that has held their souls together for these years even lies. It makes the possibility of Lip actually knowing something about Mickey’s heart that Ian doesn’t seem ridiculous … but not impossible.

Looking discreetly at Mickey now, Ian wonders how to ask the questions he wants to ask. Mickey is normally most open with his feelings after sex, especially rough sex that leaves them both trembling and exhausted. In the moments after that, Mickey can tell Ian anything and everything because he feels safe and it is a fact that Ian holds close to his heart – his love makes Mickey feel safe.

But right now, Ian can’t offer him that. He can’t offer him any of it.

“Mick?”

“Yeah.”

Mickey’s gaze flicks away from Seagal, absently flicking ash from the end of his cigarette into the ashtray beside the bed and Ian takes the plunge

“I want you to know if you’re grieving for your dad, you can tell me.”

“Wha…”

“I just want …”

They speak simultaneously and Mickey holds up a stilling hand, turning away to extinguish his smoke.

“Hang on.”

The bed jolts as Mickey sits up, grabbing the remote and hitting pause. He looks down at Ian intently, eyes bright despite the shadows beneath them and when he speaks is tone is resigned.

“What the fuck, Ian?”

Ian meets his look with a reluctant stubbornness, pushing forward before Mickey can get more frustrated.

“It’s not about him. It’s about you. You’re loyal, Mick. If you’re grieving, I’m here for you.”

Mickey scrubs a hand over his face and shrugs his shoulders against the headboard. He doesn’t really want to talk to Ian about this but Mickey knows it is part of Ian’s process has always been to talk shit through, even if it crops up in the middle of a fuckin’ kick ass movie. If he isn’t able to do that then he starts free-wheeling inside his head and that is when the crazy shit happens.

“I’m loyal to you, asshole. Not some evil old bastard who never gave a fuck about anyone.”

“I know you are but you always tried so hard to please him! You …”

“Ian, will you stop? Jesus!”

Mickey waves Ian’s words away and frowns. He doesn’t have the energy or the patience tonight.

“I just want to understand, Mickey. Lip said …”

“Oh great! Lip said? Fuck Lip!”

Mickey spits, throwing up his hands and Ian flinches realising too late how stupid bringing Lip into this mix was.

“I know and yeah, fuck him. But he’s right isn’t he? You can’t just be fine after this! I know you Mick…”

“Apparently not as well as fuckin’ Lip…”

Ian looks down at the comforter, that familiar gesture of being hurt and Mickey masters his temper with a conscious effort.

“Listen, Lip doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.”

“I really just want to make sure you’re OK, Mick.”

Ian looks up, watching Mickey like a puppy that just shit on the rug and expects to be yelled at. Mickey wants to fuckin’ yell at him but just like having an actual puppy, he knows it wouldn’t be fair and it won’t do any good so he draws a breath and nods.

“Alright. Okay, you want to do this? If you think it’s not going to fuck you up or make you crazy then fine but when this is done, it’s fuckin’ done, you hear me?.”

Ian nods and sits up so that they are facing each other properly and Mickey spreads his hands, palm down.

“I’m not sorry the bastard is dead…. But if … if it had been different, if he died in fuckin’ prison or something the way he was supposed to, then …”

Mickey hesitates and Ian grips his hand tightly. Ian knows it is part of Mickey’s process; he needs contact – physical and eye contact to get the words out. Even if he looks away, he needs to know that Ian is there and Ian IS there. He is always there, no matter what.

“ … then I would have sorted a funeral, a fuckin’ decent grave and maybe a wake for his Nazi buddies to come and say goodbye, but it ain’t my fault that didn’t happen. It’s his fault.”

Mickey shakes his head, almost laughing. He’s so tired it feels like he’s slipping into delirium after just a couple of beers and this is rapidly turning into an emotional release that he really didn’t want but actually feels pretty good now it’s happening.

“He wouldn’t fuckin’ get that though. If he was here right now and I laid it out for him, he still wouldn’t fuckin’ get it. He’d call me a faggot and be completely pissed that I fucked it up. He never once in his life thought he might be the fuckin’ problem.”

Ian nods but doesn’t speak, Mickey isn’t really even talking to him anymore, he’s just talking and the slightest interruption will most likely clam him back up.

“And I need to tell Mandy and my brother’s that he’s dead. And I need to lie and tell them that I killed him because they’ll accept it from me but it could cause problems for Svetlana. She ain’t family in that sense. And the truth is that I wish it had been me that pulled the trigger. It should have been me.”

Mickey blinks and nods to himself, then looks at Ian and sighs, curling the back of his fingers against Ian’s cheek and giving him a scrunched little smile. It is the same smile Yev gives the weird cat down the street with one eye that he wants to bring home.

“But I’m not grieving for him, Ian. I’m … I’m fuckin’ grieving for you. For letting you down. For the years I fuckin’ wasted on what that asshole thought. For all of it.”

Ian opens his arms but Mickey is pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and doesn’t notice so Ian moves forward and gathers him into his arms.

“I’m okay Mick, we’re okay.”

“No you’re fuckin’ not and I can’t … I can’t even take you to piss on his grave cause I don’t know where it is!”

Mickey breaks off with a startled laugh, as if he has just heard what he said and isn’t quite sure what to make of it.

Ian watches it all play out and feels something deep and primal stir in his chest. The desire to protect mingles with his physical desire for this beautiful man by his side and the oil slick in his mind clears for a blissful moment of clarity.

His lips crash against Mickey’s with a force that ignites a fire in Mickey’s belly long before his mind can catch up. Ian grabs his hips and pushes him backwards into the sheets, covering him with his body.

Ian can smell Mickey’s hair wax, his deodorant, and the fresh tang of beer on his lips. It is so much, almost too much and as Ian pushes down another wave of rising panic, he knows he can’t do it alone.

“Mick, will you help me?”

Mickey understands instinctively. He has asked Ian the same question through almost every step of their relationship, not in words but in lingering looks and mimicked behaviours, following Ian’s sure footsteps and allowing himself to be saved repeatedly by doing so and Ian has never let him down.

Mickey rolls Ian onto his back and kneels over him, arms stretched and fingers locked with Ian’s own, staring down at him with more certainty than he feels, waiting for Ian’s breathing to even out. Ian’s eyes are almost black behind the shadow of Mickey’s arm, obscuring his face from the light but Mickey sees him all the same. He sees him very well.

“I’ve got you.”

He nods and kisses Ian slowly and deeply, drawing him out of himself and reviving the part of his soul that another had tried so hard to break. He lifts Ian’s hand and places it flat on his chest, then guides it down, over his ribs and waist. Ian makes a small whimper at the back of his throat as his knuckles graze the fabric of Mickey’s boxers and then slide up the billowing leg, bumping lightly against his ass. He can feel the unnatural slickness of lubricant beneath his fingers and smiles slightly.

“You actually wanted me tonight?”

“I want you every fuckin’ night.”

Mickey mumbles, kissing along one purple bruised collar bone

“I look disgusting.”

Ian laughs, a fake, strained sound and Mickey eyes him with obvious impatience

“I’ve seen you look disgusting. This ain’t it.”

Ian is momentarily shocked and then his smile widens, becoming genuine.

“Oh? When have I looked worse?”

Mickey pretends to think as he slides back down Ian’s body, taking his time, lightly grazing his nipples with his teeth and nipping the flesh at his hips, drawing his tongue in a wide flat sweep up the length of Ian’s shaft before positioning himself over him.

“There was the time Yev threw up on your head when he was a baby.”

Ian actually laughs and Mickey lowers himself onto the tip of him, muscles quivering with the urge to plunge all the way but forcing himself to keep still.

“The time you played football with your EMT buddies and slipped in dog-shit.”

“How about when the water got shut off last Summer. We didn’t shower for three days.”

Mickey grins remembering exactly WHY that lack of showering facilities became such a problem so quickly and allows himself to take a little more of Ian’s dick, both of them gasping, smiles identical as they relax fully.

“Oh yeah. That was … uh … that was … fuckin’ nasty.”

“Mick, can you take more?”

Ian’s voice is strangled as his hands press lightly on Mickey’s shoulders and Mickey thinks there can be no sweeter words.

He slides down onto Ian until a sharp ache catches him, reminding him that it has been a few days and if he wants to walk tomorrow, he needs to go slow. Ian rocks his hips experimentally and Mickey’s eyes roll back in his head. He bites his lip hard and moans low in his throat. His face is screwed up in the agony of building ecstasy, a mirror of Ian’s own. Ian taps his thigh and Mickey forces his eyes open with a desperate effort

“You need me to stop?”

It is a testament to his love for Ian that he manages to sound almost casual but his relief when Ian shakes his head is obvious.

“No. Roll over.”

Mickey had been wrong. There are sweeter words.

His ass is throbbing as he climbs off Ian and assumes the position on all fours, he starts on his hands, knowing he will sink to his elbows soon enough and be fucked flat by the end. Mickey normally likes the shock of Ian entering him but tonight he pushes himself back onto Ian’s cock, meeting Ian’s movements as he gets used to the new position. Ian is never normally this hesitant but that’s alright, Mickey is more than ready to go for as long as Ian needs.

Mickey is trying to be quiet, trying to be respectful of Ian’s mood but thick grunts are reverberating up from his chest, turning quickly into deep, vibrating sighs as soon as Ian starts to nudge against his prostate.

Ian watches as Mickey’s arms begin to tremble and he goes down onto his elbows, arching his ass higher, tightening in a whole new way around Ian’s cock.

“Mickey … Mickey …”

Ian doesn’t have any control over his tongue, his boyfriend’s name is rolling into the air over his sweating back like honey from a warm spoon and Ian knows he won’t last much longer. He reaches under Mickey and finds his dick almost impossibly hard, straining against the mattress.

Mickey makes a high-pitched noise as Ian palms him, his face twisting into a silent scream of pleasure and even his elbows give out, smothering his face in the quilt, the scent of Ian’s side of the bed filling his senses.

“Ian, harder,”

Mickey gasps through a mouthful of cotton as he feels his orgasm coming, pushing himself backwards with an almost desperate scrabble. Ian rocks his hips in a series of sharp, achingly familiar movements and Mickey is done. He hears Ian’s own shuddering gasp from wherever his conscious mind is floating in the vastness of the universe and smiles to himself, releasing the quilt from between his teeth.

*

Ian curls around Mickey’s body, the warm comfort of their closeness mingling with the natural high of his orgasm and he is suddenly overcome with a feeling of being himself. It is a delicate feeling, certainty, and can be snatched away so quickly. But here with Mickey, Ian captures it again. He is certain of so many things that had seemed so broken that is would startle him if he wasn’t also so tired.

“You okay?”

Mickey’s voice is deep and a little slurred with sleep but he manages to kiss Ian’s hand as Ian nods against him

“Good.”

Early summer rain begins to drum against the window panes, changing the quiet of the room to a cocoon of gentle sound.

“Mick?”

“Mmmm?”

“I love you.”

Ian’s words are met with a small, happy sigh and then Mickey is rolling over to face him, cupping his cheek tenderly in one bruised, scarred hand, the tattoos on his knuckles stark against his pale skin, even in the semi-darkness.

“I love you too.”

With Ian awake with him, the hammering rain that kept Mickey from sleep the night before now sounds almost peaceful, washing away the dust of the day from the house, readying it for a new day.


	14. Chapter 14

Mickey would probably die before admitting it, but the talk with Ian had lifted a weight that had been on his shoulders and he found himself thinking more clearly. He needs to clear some things up with his family, with Ian’s family and with Svetlana. Most importantly Svetlana. They have barely spoken since she sent him to the hospital with Ian. She has checked in, they have exchanged Yev but beyond that there has been an uncomfortable silence that Mickey knows he needs to break.

He makes a small list on a scrap of paper of what he needs to do and sets about it whilst Ian gives Yev breakfast, kissing both his boys and leaving the house with a determined swagger.

*

Svetlana is already behind the bar, despite it not officially opening for another hour. Tommy and a couple of other regulars who probably never made it home are either lounging on their usual stalls or asleep in far flung corners. Mickey frowns around at them and shakes his head. Fuckin’ wasters.

“Hey. Can I talk to you?”

He nods to Svetlana who is eyeing him warily. She nods toward the back room but Mickey notices her slip the small knife used for lemons, and rough cut cocaine on welfare day.

He is a little stung but it’s kind of fair enough. They’ve moved on quite far from the days of threatening to kill each other but that wariness never quite goes away and Svetlana knows too much of him and his past to ever feel completely trusting. Though, Mickey thinks, maybe he knows a little bit more about her and her past than she would like too.

Mickey drapes his jacket on the back of a chair and turns to face Svetlana, jerking backwards with a curse as the blade of her knife touches lightly against his throat.

“What the fuck …”

“What are you doing here? Where is Yevgeny?”

“Having breakfast with Ian. Jesus! Are you goin’ for the whole fuckin’ set?”

Mickey frowns, slowly raising his hand and wrapping his fingers around her wrist. She doesn’t lower the knife and Mickey doesn’t try to make her.

“I just wanna talk to you.”

“I kill patriarch and we chat over tea? Hmm?”

Her eyes a narrow, calculating, but there is fear there too. Very obvious fear and Mickey curses himself for his silence. It is probably his biggest flaw, not having any words when he most needs them. Well, maybe his temper but the words thing is more fuckin’ annoying and the consequences normally last longer too. Fuckin’ unbelievable.

“Will you put the fuckin’ knife down already? You made your point.”

“No trouble?”

“No trouble.”

Svetlana nods and tosses the knife onto the desk, almost contemptuously and Mickey grins despite his annoyance.

“Now I know why we got such a well behaved kid.”

Svetlana gives him a slender smile and offers him a cigarette. Mickey takes two and tucks one behind his ear for later. You hold a knife to a guys throat, peace costs more than one smoke.

“I was not sure you were ever going to speak.”

“Yeah, no, things have been …”

Mickey makes a twirling motion in the air, leaning back against a filing cabinet with one foot flat against the rusty old metal.

“I should have come sooner. Sorry.”

The apology surprises her but Svetlana doesn’t let it show. She forgets how much some things have changed between them sometimes. The man she married did not apologise for such things, and he did make threats which she could not determine the authenticity of.

But Svetlana knows better than most just how much love changes a person. In the years since she became a mother she has learned much about the duel wells of ferocity and tenderness that lie within most people, and just how deeply each runs.

“How is Ian?”

“Better. He’s doing better.”

Mickey nods and a glimmer of a smile touches the corner of his mouth. Svetlana releases the breath she has been holding and her shoulders relax a little. She does not know exactly what happened but she knew Terry Milkovich well enough to suspect that a beating would have been the least of it. She shivers and wraps her arms lightly around herself, suddenly wishing that Mickey was the sort of man who could be hugged and relied upon to hug back. But as he is not, Svetlana reasons that they are best to just get this out of the way as quickly as possible.

“What do you need from me.”

“Nothin’. I just want you to know that you don’t need to worry. I’m gonna tell my brother’s it was me. No one will question it. Any heat that comes, it’ll come my way.”

“You think they will care enough to hurt you?”

Mickey snorts and shakes his head

“No. But they got big mouths and cops have big ears.”

It is half the reason for his decision but Svet doesn’t need to know the rest. The Milkovich code of honour is too odd to try and explain and it is frightening in it’s oddity. She doesn’t need it.

“Do you wish to know about the body?”

Mickey’s eyes flick up from a damp patch on the floor that he has been eyeing for a while and Svetlana can see the conflict flickering around the perfect blue of his iris’.

“I guess.”

He says finally, straightening and bracing himself, hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

“I kept him whole, we dug six feet, and I made them leave the silver chain on his neck.”

As she speaks she watches Mickey’s tongue dart into the pocket of his cheek and the rapid blinking away of his emotions.

“Thing was tarnished to shit and worthless anyway.”

“Yeah, my mom bought it. Was worth a buck at most.”

Mickey sniffs and pinches the corners of his eyes between thumb and forefinger.

“Thank you, for doing that.”

“He is Yevgeny’s grandfather. My husband’s father. It was right.”

Mickey doesn’t have a fucking clue what is right or wrong, his mind is melting into some sort of daze of relief and guilt and relief from the guilt… its confusing and shitty and he decides to ignore it as best he can.

On impulse he steps forward and wraps his arms very gently around Svetlana, who is so shocked she doesn’t have a chance to do the same to him before he is pulling back and rubbing his face roughly on the shoulder of his shirt.

“I gotta go. Ian’s gonna drop Yev off later, okay?”

“Fine.”

Svetlana nods and clears her throat as Mickey shrugs his jacket on. They look at each other for a moment and both offer the ghost of a smile. Their path has been bumpy and weird as hell but in the quiet of the little office, surrounding by damp, worn old things, there is an understanding that neither ever expected to feel and a warmth that is equally unexpected. Words hang heavy in the air around them but neither are the sort to need them spoken aloud.

Mickey takes the spare smoke from behind his ear and lets it dangle from his lips as he lights it.

“See ya, Svet.”

*

Mickey texts Mandy and his brother’s as he walks toward the Gallagher house.

“Family meeting. My place.”

Iggy texts back almost instantly

“When?”

“ASAP. Will let u know.”

“K.”

Joey is next

“B there tomorrow.”

Mickey doesn’t bother replying, Joey comes and goes as he pleases and will either show up or not.

Jamie and Tony both reply with equal brevity

“Fuck U. No.”

“No. Fuck U.”

Mickey rolls his eyes. Their replies came in so quickly that he knows they must be holed up together.

“About Dad.”

“K.”

“K.”

Mickey watches his phone for Mandy’s response but nothing comes through and as he stomps up the steps to the Gallagher home, he pockets his phone and gets back to the task at hand.

He raps on the door and waits. He can hear people moving around inside and raises his eyebrows impatiently. There’s always ten fuckin’ people in the shithole and no one ever answers the door! It’s always been the same.

He bangs a bit harder and hears heavy footfall coming his way. Frank or Lip. Good.

Mickey steps back as the door is wrenched open. Lip looks down at him and then past him.

“Hey Mickey.”

Mickey has been planning what he wants to say and launches into it without preamble.

“I don’t like you and you don’t like me and that’s fuckin’ fine but you’re Ian’s brother so we’re stuck with each other.”

Lip nods amiably and Mickey takes it as a sign that he can continue

“If you wanna swing by later and have a beer with him, I think he’d like that and I don’t have to be there.”

Lip gives him a lopsided smile

“I don’t drink Mickey.”

“A fuckin’ coffee then!”

Mickey snaps and Lip nods again. He cocks his head to the side and scratches the bridge of his nose. Mickey hates being scrutinised by anyone but tolerates it as best he can.

“Thank you for the invite. I’ll be there and I hope you will be too.”

It isn’t exactly a brotherly hug, but it’s a start and they both relax a little.

“Fine. See ya.”

Mickey thinks he is getting pretty good at walking away from awkward situations with a casual ‘See ya’. He can’t remember the first time he tried it but it’s been a signature move for quite a while and maybe it’s a little rude, but fuck it. If it ain’t broke don’t fix it, and if it is a bit broke, leave it alone anyway cause who the fuck has time to go around makin’ everything perfect?


	15. Times Change.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we have the Milkovich gathering in full swing xx

Ian is holding Yevgeny’s hand as they walk down the road, half thinking about the steaks in his carrier bag ready for the cook-out and half listening to Yev prattle on about dinosaurs and which lizard is most like a dinosaur.

“Woah! Dad!”

Yev yanks suddenly on Ian’s sleeve and points down the road at their house. There is a huge, blacked out van parked wonkily in front of the house and a rusty motorbike dumped on the sidewalk beside it.

“Who’s is that?”

“I think maybe your uncles have arrived”

Ian’s pulse quickens and he grips Yev’s hand a bit tighter. Mickey had warned him that the Milkovich’s were likely to descend on mass, and that he had called the meeting so they were probably going to be pissed but Ian had kind of hoped it would just be Mandy and Iggy that actually arrived.

He considers taking Yev back to Svetlana’s but Yev is already tugging forward excitedly and Ian remembers how much calmer the house had been when Yevgeny was present as a baby.

“Hey listen, we’re gonna go in and say hi, but if Papa needs to get down to business, we’ll get Mama to come collect you, Okay?”

“Okay.”

Yev nods happily but Ian narrows his eyes at his son, he knows that sort of ready agreement is usually surface deep. Just like Mickey, once he needs to, Yevgeny can dig his heels in and kick up a stink with the best of them.

“I mean it, bud. If I say we have to go …”

“Got it!”

Yev is close enough now that he can hear the heavy metal music blaring out of the house. Papa is having a party and he isn’t there! This is something Yev decides to fix immediately and he let’s go of Ian’s hand and takes off at a run.

*

“COOL!”

Yev stands over the sweet smelling glass bowl that is releasing awesome peels of smoke

“Is that a cauldron?”

He looks up at the huge man sprawled on the sofa, who is looking back at him with a sleepy grin on his face

“A fuckin’ what? It’s a fishbowl … you know? A bong.”

“Oh.”

Yev bounces on his toes a couple of times to the rhythm of heavy slamming guitar and waves a hand through the smoke

“You supposed to be in here or are you robbin’ the homos?”

“This is my house.”

Yev wrinkles his nose and quirks his lip irritably in a way that anyone who has spent more than five minutes with his father would be entirely familiar with and the big man lets out a surprised laugh.

“Oh shit! You’re the Russian’s kid, ain’t ya?”

“I’m Yevgeny Milkovich – are you one of my uncles?”

“I might be your fuckin’ Dad. Man, that was a wild fuckin’ party…”

The man laughs again, louder this time. Yev scowls at him and is about to respond when a large arm wraps around his waist and boosts him up.

“Hey Joey, I see you met your nephew.”

Ian smiles in what he hopes is a friendly manner but doesn’t wait for the oldest Milkovich to respond before bearing Yev away.

“He said …”

“I heard. Ignore him. And if you see something smoking, don’t go near it.”

Ian deposits Yev on the stairs and pokes his head around the kitchen door. Mickey and Jamie are locked in an arm-wrestle, both of them in cut-off black t-shirts, holding beers in their free hands. Iggy is sat on the counter with another fishbowl in his lap and he gives Ian a wave when he notices him.

“Hey Ian.”

“Hey Ig, how you doing?”

“Fuckin’ starvin’, man. Mickey says you got steaks.”

Iggy grins at him and Ian can’t help grinning back. Iggy is less gruff about it than his older brother’s but he has that uncanny Milkovich way of letting you know exactly what he wants without using a whole bunch of words.

“Yeah I’ll get started on that in a bit. Uh … Mick?”

“What?”

Mickey’s brow is creased in concentration and his lips are pressed tight, Jamie is sweating heavily and his forearm is starting to tremble. Mickey is focussed and going in for the kill, forcing his wrist to bear down infinitesimally more, his knuckles stark white. Ian is almost distracted by the swell of his boyfriends biceps flexing and the determined look in his eyes, but he forces himself back to the issue at hand.

“Yev’s here so … uh … maybe the bongs could …”

“Ig, put the fuckin’ bowl away.”

Mickey grunts

“Joey has one too.”

“Tell … Joey … to … FUCK YEAH!”

Mickey leaps up, slapping the table triumphantly as Jamie gives in and swears furiously, grabbing his arm and flexing his fingers.

“All that cock pumping got you strong as shit!”

“Yeah? I bet you pump your dick more than I pum…”

“Mick! Yev’s here.”

Ian snaps and Mickey grins guiltily, letting the last of his rebuttal trail off and punching Jamie affectionately on the arm.

“Hey, you wanna meet your nephew?”

“Sure, why not.”

Jamie lights a cigarette but there is a look on his face of quiet unease and as Ian ushers Yev in, his finds himself fighting the urge to keep a protective hand on his shoulder. It is a side-effect of the last couple of weeks that he hadn’t really expected, he almost can’t stand to let either Yev or Mickey be touched by anyone else, especially Yev.

But Mickey is beckoning his son forward and like a magnet, Yev is drawn toward him.

“Jamie, this is Yevgeny.”

The pride in Mickey’s voice is so obvious that Ian lets go of his misgivings and folds his arms, watching his boys happily as Mickey drapes an arm around Yev’s shoulders and Yev leans his head shyly into Mickey’s waist.

“Well shit. He looks just like you.”

Jamie leans forward on eye level with Yevgeny, peering at him closely and Yev, a Milkovich to the core, straightens and holds his uncles gaze as boldly as he can, though he keeps one arm around his father’s leg.

“You got your Grandma’s eyes kid, like your Pop.”

Jamie’s eyes flick up to Mickey and he nods.

“Guess he is yours.”

Yev frowns

“Who elses would I be?”

“Well exactly! Quit saying dumb shit, asshole!”

Mickey scoffs at his brother, there is no real heat to his words but the look in his eye is one that makes Jamie shrug and sniff apologetically and the matter is quickly dropped.

“Mandy here yet?”

Iggy asks, bored of watching the play power between his brothers when it is obvious to everyone that Mickey has already won.

“Nah, haven’t heard from her.”

“Me and Joey can stay a day but after that we got shit to do. You wanna wait for Mandy for the meeting?”

Jamie isn’t sucking up to Mickey but it’s as close as any Milkovich is likely to get to it and Mickey favours him with a small smile

“We’ll wait til tonight. You dickhead’s are all high as fuck right now anyway.”

“Hungry too.”

Iggy grunts and Mickey rolls his eyes at his brother

“This ain’t a fuckin’ resort, man. If you’re hungry go to the fuckin’ fridge and make yourself a God damn sandwich.”

“Bite me, asshole!”

“Fuckin’ bite you? I’ll kick your ass!”

A fight ensues that is mostly for show but there are a couple of blows that make Ian wince and he snatches Yev back out of the way, wrapping his arms around him. Iggy’s lip splits in one corner spilling blood down his chin and Mickey grunts loudly as an elbow catches his chest, but they break away laughing and Mickey ruffles Iggy’s hair affectionately as Iggy claps him on the shoulder.

“That’s what you fuckin’ get!”

Yev’s eyes are like saucers watching his Papa. He is so absorbed he barely notices his Dad let go of his shoulders and turn to speak to a lady with long dark hair who has just come in.

Swearing is not uncommon at all and even Yev is allowed to drop a few cuss words here and there but it’s like Papa is trying to get in the world record book in the school library, like the man with all the pegs on his body. His Dad has stepped out into the hall and so Yev takes it upon himself to draw it to Papa’s attention.

“Papa? … Papa? … PAPA!”

Yev raises his voice and gives a sharp tug on Mickey’s shirt as he passes by to grab another beer.

“What?”

Mickey grins down at his son and then arches one questioning eyebrow at the tiny, judgemental scowl

“You’re swearing a LOT.”

“Too much, huh?”

Mickey asks, squatting down and tapping his beer bottle against the snub of Yev’s nose.

“I dunno but it’s a lot.”

Yev raises his own eyebrows in a fairly decent imitation of the warning look Papa gives him when he’s going too far and skating on the edge of trouble.

“We bitched at your grandpa like that, he’d fuckin’ whoop us. You want your daddy to whoop you?”

Jamie grins at Yev as if he’s said something particularly funny and wipes his nose on the back of his hand.

“Papa doesn’t whoop me.”

Yev smiles kindly, as if explaining something obvious to a slightly slow person and then turns his attention back to Mickey, missing the look that his uncles exchange at that admission.

“Can I play Xbox until lunch?”

“Sure, man. Love you.”

Mickey murmurs the last words low enough that only Yev can hear them and kisses his forehead very briefly

“Oh, hey, if your uncle Joey hogs the remote, come get me. He’s shit at video games but takes, like, fifty turns.”

“Okay.”

“and where’s your Dad gone?”

“Chatting to a lady.”

Yev calls over his shoulder and Mickey jerks as if slapped. Mandy!

“Hey, here, chips, dips, go nuts.”

He opens a cupboard and gestures vaguely to it before closing his brother’s into the kitchen and going in search of his sister.

*

Mandy and Ian are on the porch, smoking. Watching them, Mickey is transported back to when they were kids and he grins to himself remembering the joint relief and absolute jealousy he’d felt when Ian had pretended to be Mandy’s boyfriend.

“Hey!”

Mandy spots him coming and cocks her head to the side. They’ve never been great at gauging each others reactions and Mickey finds himself moving toward her with a weird, gangly armed stance, half open to hug, half not.

“You look stupidly fuckin’ good.”

Mandy laughs, shaking her head. The tone is set and Mickey opens his arms properly, enfolding her in a tight embrace, cupping the back of her head in one hand.

“I didn’t fuckin’ know you were comin’.”

“Neither did I.”

Mandy admits and accepts the fierce kiss her brother plants on her forehead, scrunching her nose in an amused grimace

“You high?”

“A little drunk,”

Mickey admits, letting go of her and stepping back

“It’s good to see you, Mandy. I … well … yeah, fuck it, I missed you.”

Mandy turns to Ian, mock surprised

“Shit! You almost got my brother fully domesticated, talking about his feelings … what did you do?”

“Magic dick.”

Ian quips, fending off the playful gut punch that comment earns him.

“Asshole.”

Mickey mumbles but his attention is firmly with Mandy

“How you doin’?”

Mandy twists her hands into the pockets of the tight denim skirt she is wearing and bobs her head.

“I’m good, a little freaked out by this summons though.”

“Wasn’t a summons!”

Mickey frowns defensively as Mandy rolls her eyes at him.

“Course it was! You’re like Michael Corleone and where ever the fuck Terry is, right now he might as well be the old don in his orange garden.”

“What the fuck are you …”

“It’s the Godfather, idiot! Anyway my point is you run the family when Terry’s away.”

“No I don’t.”

Mickey is clearly uncomfortable with this but Mandy isn’t backing down from it and simply shrugs.

“Kinda do. We haven’t all got together for years …”

Both siblings fall silent, trying to think of the last time they were all together. It’s been so long neither of them can actually remember and the chances are it wouldn’t be a happy memory anyway.

“Yev’s here.”

Mickey offers finally and Mandy smiles a little sadly

“Yevgeny? Really?”

“Yeah, we have him almost every weekend officially but he swings by whenever really. Got his own room … y’know.”

Mickey fidgets a little awkwardly and Ian instinctively hands him what is left of his cigarette, which Mickey takes with a grateful smile.

“That’s nice Mick.”

“He’s got Mom’s eyes.”

Mickey tries to make it sound casual, well aware that this has become some sort of code for claiming Yevgeny as his own amongst his family and he’s eager to get that cloaked conversation out of the way as quickly as possible.

“I remember.”

Mandy rubs his arm reassuringly and Mickey wonders what her hesitation or surprise is about the kid if not the question of his paternity.

“I must owe him a fuck ton of birthday and christmas presents.”

Mandy jokes, lighting another cigarette and Ian and Mickey exchange a quick look of exact understanding.

“Don’t be silly! We spoil him rotten as it is!”

Ian wraps and arm around her shoulder and gives her a gentle squeeze. He still thinks of Mandy as being of a height with him and the frailty of her bones beneath the check-shirt surprises him anew but he doesn’t let it show.

“Yeah, besides, I ain’t slavin’ away cookin’ eggs for you all tomorrow, fuck that! We’ll go to McDonalds and you can get him a hashbrown. Kid’s like a damn dog when it comes to food. Feed him weird, greasy potato shit and he’ll love you forever.”

*

Mickey takes Ian to one side as Mandy greets her other brothers and nephew

“I’m gonna get this done now.”

“Okay,”

Ian nods, his place now is to support, he can’t get in the way of family business, no matter his place in Mickey’s life.

“What can I do?”

Mickey glances around and bites his lip, thinking.

“Get the BBQ goin’, take Yev with you and keep him outside. You hear any shit going down, call the cops and get Yev away.”

Ian takes a deep breath and holds it until the urge to protest passes, then lets out a long sigh through his nose.

“Okay.”

He says again. Mickey quirks his lip upwards and reaches up, tugging Ian lightly downward to kiss him. It is a long and steady kiss, nothing like the furtive pecks that Mickey used to give him when any of his siblings were around. It is a promise and a reassurance and Ian gives him a warm smile as they separate.

“Just be safe, okay?”

“Always, man.”

Mickey pats Ian’s butt and turns on his heel, shoulders squared and South Side swagger in full force, barking out his summons that is not a summons.

“Meeting. Now. Kitchen table.”

*

Mickey sits at the head of the table without thinking and then gives Mandy a withering look when she starts humming a low tune that he recognises as a theme to an old movie, probably the Godfather or whatever the Hell it was called.

“Where’s Dad?”

Joey asks as soon as he has his cigarette lit. Mickey tongues his lower lip and is about to answer when Mandy snaps her fingers assertively

“Hey! You all know the rules! Weapons on the table in family meetings.”

“Come the fuck on, Mandy.”

Jamie sighs but Mandy only glares at him and then each of the others in turn

“Rules! Centre of the table.”

She snaps and removes a slender can of mace from her bra and a small knife from the edge of her boot. Joey complies next. The rule was made after Terry slashed his shoulder open with a flick-knife in a fit of temper over a confessed loss of some merchandise. Iggy and Jamie follow, adding brass knuckles, a dirty butterfly knife and two vicious looking curved blades to the pile. Mickey hesitates and then pulls the ruger out of the back of his pants, opens the chamber and empties the bullets into his hand before chucking it on top.

“A fucking gun? Shit! What the fuck have you done?”

Iggy laughs but the atmosphere is starting to bristle with the threat of violence. Mickey licks his lips and sets his hands flat on the table, braced palm down. If he waits any longer he’s going to lose his nerve. He cricks his neck left, then right and says

“Dad’s dead. I killed him.”

There is a moment of silence and then Jamie puffs his cheeks out and exhales a rush of air noisily.

“Damn Mickey.”

“This something to do with Ian’s face?”

Iggy motions to his own eye, it is the only bruising that is still really bad, the eyeball itself still a little bloodshot and although the swelling has gone down, it still doesn’t open fully.

“Yeah, he was supposed to meet Yevgeny but he came here instead when I was out. Fucked Ian up, badly. I came back … we fought. I killed him.”

Mickey’s gaze is flicking between each of his siblings. Mandy has her eyes fixed on the table top but beneath the table her booted foot nudges against his in silent support.

Iggy isn’t smiling any more but he is nodding in grudging understanding and that is something.

Jamie looks pretty non-plussed and Mickey knows he is waiting for Joey’s reaction. Everyone is waiting for Joey’s reaction. It’s why Mickey unloaded the damn gun before surrendering it.

Joey has always been the most like Terry: looks, temperament, ideals. He was also the one Terry gave the hardest time to, the most beatings, the most vicious insults and the only kid that Terry ever gave up willingly during a bust. It had been pretty much game over to Joey anyway when the cops came in but still, it had been heartbreaking for him to hear his father casually admit that he had been with him when they did the heist.

He looks at his youngest brother now and rubs his bottom lip, considering.

“You do it in cold blood?”

“No, we were fighting, I pistol whipped him and thought he’d go down but he … he fuckin’ grabbed it and we were both trying to get control … he got shot.”

Mickey is trying to keep as close to the truth as possible because lying to Joey has always been damn near impossible. His hands are starting to tremble but he manages to hold them steady under the cool, dark gaze.

“And it was definitely you? Not your … boyfriend?”

The word drips with distaste and it gives Mickey the last surge of indignation he needs to get through.

“You fuckin’ deaf? I said it was me.”

Joey grunts and then shrugs

“Fine. Old man should have known better than to come after your family. Fag or not.”

Jamie nods at this and turns to Mickey

“Yeah man. He should have fuckin’ left it alone. Fag or not.”

“He’s actually dead. I always figured he’d die in jail.”

Mandy murmurs quietly and Iggy snorts, smiling despite himself

“Yeah, or if it was gonna be one of us, I always thought it’d be you.”

Mandy’s head jerks up and she gives her brother a ‘what the fuck’ look which makes Iggy actually laugh, though he quickly raises an apologetic hand to Joey

“Why the fuck would it be me?”

Mandy demands and as she speaks memory rushes around them all in a vicious, vice like grip, the barbs of knowledge long repressed sinking in deep and they all fall silent, though Mickey’s boot presses firmly against Mandy’s and holds there.

After a minute he breaks the silence and looks directly at Joey

“So what do we do? I killed our dad.”

Joey drums his fingers on the table thoughtfully. They could be discussing who’s turn it is to go collect a pizza or which team might when the season this year. Death is a natural part of life for all people but for the Milkovich’s of South Side, it is so much a part of life that even when it is one of there own, the feeling tends to be a sort of muted awareness at best and none of them are damp eyed at the loss of their father.

“We could take you outside and fuck you up a bit but … ah … fuck it. I’m on parole, man. Looks like you got a broken nose, mostly healed… Ig?”

Before Mickey can move, Iggy’s fist connects with his face and his vision explodes in a star-burst of pain.

“FUCK! Jesus fucking Christ!”

Mickey rocks back in his chair, nearly toppling it over. Blood pumps out of both nostrils and splashes onto the palms of his hands as they instinctively cup beneath his face. It was a damn good punch, hard enough to create a lot of drama but not hard enough to actually break the cartilage afresh. Iggy was always a fuckin’ savant when it came to his fists and Mickey is grateful.

Mandy hands him a bandanna from her shirt pocket and the atmosphere softens noticeably

“Did he get a decent burial? Whole?”

Jamie asks quietly and Mickey nods, dabbing lightly at his nostrils

“Yeah. With the silver chain from Mom. I left it on him.”

“Good.”

Jamie nods and Joey smiles slightly

“What do you wanna do about territory?”

Mickey shakes his head lightly and stands up.

“You guys split it - four ways, if Mandy wants in. I don’t want any of it and don’t deserve the inheritance anyway.”

This is clearly the right answer because Joey retrieves his weapons and pockets them. The family meeting is over.

Iggy, clearly not giving a shit about territory grabs another beer and nods to Mandy

“Hey, you meet your nephew yet?”

“Yeah, he’s cute.”

“Mickey don’t whoop him though.”

Jamie offers, clearly expecting some level of horror from Mandy on Mickey’s blatant lack of parenting skills.

“You don’t?”

Mandy’s smile is bright and hopeful

“Yeah .. no, I mean, I guess I’d swat him if he was being an asshole but what the fuck does a grown-ass man want with beating on a little kid?”

Mickey shakes his head and Mandy sighs happily

“You’re doing so good, Mick.”

“Pop beat us and we turned out fine.”

Jamie mumbles and Mickey raises a sardonic eyebrow at his brother but Iggy retorts first

“Yeah and one of his kids fuckin’ shot him. Times change man.”

Jamie ponders this for a minute and then huffs out a startled breath

“Shit! I hadn’t thought of that. I’m not gonna lay a hand on my kids if I have any. Or my wife either, just in fuckin’ case! Times change!”

It is the most eloquent he has been all day and he looks rather pleased with himself until Joey shoves him and says

“You’ll have to find a bitch desperate enough to marry you first.”

“Fuck you!”

The ensuing scuffle breaks one of Ian’s kitchen chairs and smashes the fruit bowl but it is good natured and clears the last of the tension.

Business completed, retribution delivered and the subject of territory to be settled later, Joey and Jamie eat, fill their pockets with booze and leave. They don’t hug Mickey or Iggy but they hug Mandy in a sort of awkward way, unused to contact with a woman that they aren’t trying to bed.

Mandy settles into the sofa with Ian, catching up on everything, trusting him to tell Mickey the things she cannot tell him herself. She falls asleep against Ian’s chest, secure and utterly safe in her brother’s home.

Iggy sticks around, plays video games with Yevgeny and tries to teach him how to make a butterfly blade dance between his fingers until Mickey swoops in and forbids it, giving Yev a spoon to practice with instead.

“But can’t I …”

“No.”

“But Papa …”

Fine, black eyebrows raise and a pair of stern, blue eyes widen and the whining ceases immediately.

Iggy goes into the bathroom and does another fishbowl and when he comes back into the living room, he looks around and gives a little amused giggle.

It is a Milkovich household in which a child is safe, loved and cared for.

A father doesn’t hit his kid.

An alpha male is gay.

Family is welcome and no weapons are needed.

Women are safe inside the four walls and each person has enough food without having to ask. He is on his fourth sandwich and no one has yelled at him.

Times fuckin’ change indeed!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think as per the English version, Jamie is actually the oldest Milkovich, but I only thought of that half-way through and by then I'd kind of adopted Joey as my characterised 'eldest' so I kept it. Poetic licence :)


	16. Chapter 16

Mandy wakes under a thick blanket her head resting on something firm. She blinks into the darkness and gently wipes her fingers across her eyes. She used to barrel her fists into her eyes to wake up but years of picking a certain type of man has made her more hesitant, more aware of the delicate skin.

There is a soft grunt from above and the firm thing beneath her head tenses and then relaxes. A thigh. She peers upwards but it is too dark to see who it belongs to. She doesn’t care really. She is exhausted and it will either be her best friend or her brother, either way they want nothing more from her than to let them sleep. She sighs, closes her eyes, and lets herself sink back under.

*

“Papa?”

“Huh? What? What is it?”

“Have you been here all night?”

“Yeah, must have been.”

Mandy wakes to the mingle of Yevgeny’s stage whispers and the low rumble of his father’s sleep-laden responses.

“Is Aunty Mandy asleep?”

“Use your eyes! Course she’s asleep.”

“Don’t be a Grumposaurus.”

“A what?”

“Grump-O-Saw-Us”

Yev enunciates and only the urge to listen to this play out stops Mandy actually laughing.

“That’s not a real dinosaur.”

Mickey shifts his weight, rummages in his pocket and a few moments later there is the soft whoosh,click of a lighter and the smell of tobacco wafts down to Mandy.

“You’re old enough to be a dinosaur!”

“Oh really, little man? You wanna say that when I’m not pinned down under your aunty?”

The smile in Mickey’s voice is evident and Yevgeny cackles delightedly to himself, dashing down the back of the sofa to peer at his father from over the other end.

“Old dino! Old dino!”

He sing-songs, Mandy can feel the sofa give a little as he swings over the arm, kicking his legs up.

“Keep it down. Your aunt had a long journey.”

“Are you just gonna sit there til she wakes up?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Jesus! You ask too many questions in the morning!”

“Can I play Sonic?”

“Okay but turn the volume down and sit on the floor.”

“Can I sit on your feet?”

“Wh… ugh. Whatever. Sure. Grab a seat.”

Mickey rolls his eyes and Mandy feels his legs shift as he presses his boots together, obligingly making a steel-capped seat for his son. She knows she should admit that she is awake and sit up but she’s so damn happy just laying here. She’s warm and safe and listening to her brother act like some sort of TV-Dad … Jesus! Mickey acting like any sort of Dad! She grins despite herself and then hastily arranges her features back into slumber.

The cigarette packet rustles again, the lighter sparks and gentle fingers press the filter to her lips. Mandy takes a drag with her eyes closed, then hands it back to him and begins to sit up, but a hand on her shoulder urges her back down. Mickey knows she is awake but he’s happy to let her stay put. Mandy feels like she is about to cry and pushes the feeling away irritably. They watch Yevgeny play for a few minutes until Mickey finishes the cigarette.

“Yev, when you finish this level, could you go ask Dad to put the coffee on?”

“Okay … hang on … SHIT!”

“Hey!”

“Sorry but this fuckin’ guy keeps trippin’ me up and …”

Mandy’s explosive laugh makes Yev jump out of his skin and he shoots forward with a yelp.

“That’s what you get, smart-mouth.”

Mickey leans forward and plucks the control from his hands.

“Morning Aunty Mandy.”

Yev’s manners return to him before his heart stops thumping and he offers her a slightly lopsided smile.

“Morning Yev.”

Mandy sits up and stretches her hands above her head, watching Mickey begin to navigate the part of the game that briefly put Yev into a Milkovich temper.

“How did you…”

“Shh. Watch…”

“But…”

“Dude, shut the … SHIT!”

Mickey clicks his tongue against his teeth and scowls as Sonic leaps dramatically up and off the screen.

“See! It’s really hard.”

Yev raises his eyebrows challengingly at his Papa and Mickey nods grudgingly

“Can I try?”

Mandy asks and Mickey hands her the remote with a shrug.

“Knock yourself out.”

Yev clambers onto the sofa to sit in between them, watching intently

“Do you know the buttons?”

“Sure do.”

Mandy winks at him and Yev grins back shyly. Mickey rolls his eyes, his son is a sucker for a pretty girls smile, always has been. He wonders if it has something to do with Svetlana always being dolled up when he was a baby but from two years old, whether it is a girl at school or a random lady in a supermarket, they only have to smile at Yevgeny and he is head over heels in love. Svet had taken to calling him Little Romeo until Mickey practically begged her to stop. He wasn’t precious about his shit but his boy is still a kid and shouldn’t even be thinking about romance … not that Mickey cares of course … not at all … but … well… whatever.

Mandy destroys the course and Yev leaps to his feet on the sofa, arms thrown over his head in triumph yelling

“FUCK YEAH!”

“Quit fuckin’ yelling in the house!”

Mickey tuts and flicks the back of his hand against the seat of Yev’s pants as he stands up, his back protesting the movement after hours sat still.

Mandy snorts and shakes her head. Of course Mickey is more put out about the loud noise than the content. He’s always hated yelling but a seven year old saying ‘fuck’? Whatever.

Yev is completely unfazed by his Papa’s scolding and just drapes himself over Mandy’s shoulders watching her play.

“You’re really good! Papa isn’t Aunty Mandy good at Sonic?”

“Yeah Papa, aren’t I great at Sonic?”

Mandy sticks her tongue playfully between her teeth and grins

“Yeah, she’s OK I guess.”

Mickey waits until Yev’s attention is back with the screen and flips his middle finger affectionately at her. Who is better at Sonic has been a bone of contention since they were Yevgeny’s age.

He moves toward the stairs to wake Ian, then hesitates, doubles back and presses a kiss to the crown of each dark head of hair, ruffling Yev’s and gently smoothing Mandy’s.

“Yev, don’t let her hog the remote.”

“OK Papa.”

Yev nods.

Mandy turns and catches his eye. Ian has told him of the latest asshole and he and Mickey have made up their minds that this is the last asshole to come near her. She is forgiven for her long absence. Mandy knows this by the way her brother has stroked the knots out of her hair and the fact that her bag is not by the door. He is forgiven for the years he stood by and let her endure alone. Mickey knows this by the way she slipped her fingers so trustingly into his. They are older, braver and kinder.

They’ll talk later but they won’t mention the night he has just spent protecting her from the darkness. They won’t discuss how she curled against him and held his hand until the small hours.

They don’t need to.

“You still take your coffee sweet?”

“Yeah.”

“You good here?”

“I am. Thanks Mick.”

*

 

Mickey runs his hand through Ian’s hair, sitting on the edge of the bed, a small smile on his face. Ian is usually up before him so it is rare for Mickey to actually get to appreciate him like this.

“Time to get up, man.”

“Whatimeist?”

“Around six thirty.”

Ian blinks, smiles at the sight of Mickey and wraps a long, lazy arm around his torso, pulling his boyfriend down to him and half smothering him in a languid bear hug.

“I get up at six-forty-five.”

“But …”

“Shh.”

Ian kisses the smooth skin between Mickey’s eyebrows and contentedly rests his chin on top of his head. Mickey considers shifting himself and getting coffee on the go but as his shoulders tense with the consideration of movement, Ian tightens his arms around him and rolls onto his back, dragging Mickey onto his chest.

“Stay put, Milkovich.”

Ian’s left hand takes a firm grip on Mickey’s ass, kneading is fondly through the denim.

“Don’t even think about it. We got my sister and our kid in the livin’ room and you’re a noisy fucker in the morning.”

Ian snorts and nuzzles his face into Mickey’s hair which is wonderfully soft without his pomade in it.

“Your grammar is awesome.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yes! That, lets do that!”

Ian’s hand releases it’s grip briefly only to delve into Mickey’s jeans and worm in past the waistband of his boxers.

“Jesus! Your fingers are like fuckin’ icicles!”

“I know. They need warming up …”

Mickey gives a low moan as Ian dexterously spreads his cheeks and touches him lightly with his middle finger.

“You sure I can’t persuade you?”

“You’re such a … dick.”

Mickey shudders as Ian lightly takes his earlobe between his teeth.

“That a yes, Milkovich?”

Ian knows that Mickey likes it when he get’s a bit military on him, a bit impersonal, a bit rough. With this in mind he bites the side of Mickey’s neck and circles his finger firmly.

“I need an answer, Milkovich or I’ll have to … ”

Ian teases and removes his hand and his lips from Mickey’s skin. The effect is immediate and deeply gratifying.

“Yes! God dammit! Will you quit fuckin’ around and get on me already!”

Mickey grabs Ian and rolls him so that the redheads body is covering his and reaches hurriedly for the lube as Ian yanks Mickey’s pants off.

“I want to look at you.”

Ian says softly as Mickey tries to turn over. Mickey arches his eyebrows buy obligingly lifts his leg and rests it on Ian’s shoulder. Neither of them have addressed the pronounced lack of eye contact during any kind of sex lately but they have both been aware of it and Ian is determined to try and overcome it. Now seems as good of a time as any and he holds Mickey’s gaze with a rigid doggedness as he applies a generous amount of lube to them both, his eyes wide and staring. Mickey tolerates this for as long as he can and then shakes his head lightly

“Ian, you gotta take it down a notch. It’s like bein’ finger-fucked by a disapproving nun.”

Ian snorts and then outright laughs, sitting back on his heels.

“Sorry, I just wanted …”

“Yeah I know, but … blink or somethin’.”

This simple instruction is met with momentary silence and then the strangeness of it hits them and they’re both laughing. It is the sort of laughter that comes from the release of deep tensions. The kind that comes after a fart during a funeral or the aftermath of a vehicle skidding on black ice. Ian laughs until the tears stream down his face and flops down on his back beside Mickey on the bed.

Mickey dashes a hand under his own eyes and sits up, grabbing his discarded boxers and wiping off some of the lube before grabbing a fresh pair.

Ian doesn’t protest, the mood has shifted and sex is no longer the closest thing on their minds. He leans across the bed and links his fingers through Mickey’s.

“I love you.”

“Yeah, you too, Firecrotch. Now get up, coffee ain’t gonna make itself.”

“Mick?”

“Mmm?”

“Did you talk to Mandy?”

“Not yet.”

Mickey stretches and tugs a clean t-shirt on as Ian rolls out of bed and steps into his jeans.

“Do you know what you want to do?”

Ian asks lightly but Mickey knows it is a loaded question and he knows what the right answer is too. Luckily it is one he wants to give.

“Whatever she wants. We’ll take care of it either way.”

The arms that circle him prove that he got the answer right and Mickey closes his eyes, swaying gently with Ian for a moment.

“You might be an uncle.”

Ian murmurs

“Yeah maybe. But don’t say that in front of her. Let her think.”

“Of course but … you know… we still have so many of Yev’s baby things …”

“Yeah I know.”

Mickey glances knowingly up at Ian and touches his cheek

“Gonna need a bigger place.”

Ian’s answering smile is all the certainty Mickey needs. He’d already decided he wanted to move after everything and this is a decent excuse to do it and help Mandy out while she finds her feet again too, whatever path she chooses. He and Ian will be there.


	17. Chapter 17

Mandy pauses on the stairs, she can hear soft piano music coming from the little second hand radio Ian likes to have on in the kitchen when he is making coffee. She’s been with them for nearly two weeks and Ian has been back at work for most of that time. He’s just got home from his first of three night shifts and Mickey is just getting ready to go out to work. The lines ‘ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing’ come to Mandy unbidden as she listens to the soft murmur of their voices but she can’t place them, maybe a song she heard or something? She shrugs it off and treads lightly down, peering round the banister to glance at the two men.

Ian is sat on the counter top and Mickey is sat on a kitchen chair in front of him, one of Ian’s bare feet cradled in his hands, his thumbs working up and down the sole. Ian’s other foot is resting lightly on Mickey’s thigh. They each have a cigarette dangling from their lips, although Mickey’s is unlit.

“Is it here?”

“Up a little … yeah … oh yeah! Right there! Mmmmm!”

Ian laughs softly and tips his head back in bliss as Mickey’s right thumb finds the exact spot he needed. Ian is rakishly perfect under the dim glow of the kitchen light, his hair a little messy, flopping over to one side in a sweep of orange and red, like a birthday candle caught on the breath of a wish; but it is Mickey who Mandy’s eyes are drawn to.

He is looking up at Ian with the gentlest smile on his face that Mandy has ever seen. It is a little wonky because of the cigarette but it reaches all the way to his eyes and Mandy wonders how she never noticed this shadow of softness that lurks around his hard edges before.

“Keep makin’ noises like that I’m gonna be late for work.”

“Keep pressing your thumb like that and I’m going to rob a bank so you never have to work again.”

Ian counters happily. Mickey snorts softly and runs the heel of his hand up and down Ian’s foot a few times before glancing up at the clock and regretfully patting his ankle.

“I’m sorry but I gotta go. Does that feel a little looser though?”

“Like new.”

Ian assures him, hopping off of the counter and straddling Mickey’s lap, bumping his ass down with a deliberate roll of his hips. He leans in close and whispers something that Mandy can’t hear and she feels that is probably for the best, given the wolfish grin that suffuses her brother’s face.

“I’ll hold you to that, Firecrotch. Now come on, move your ass.”

Mickey pats Ian’s leg and they both stand up. Mandy knows she should move or make her presence known but she’s just completely transfixed by them.

“I want you to try and get some sleep, okay? Don’t be stayin’ up readin’ or any shit like that.”

“Okay Dad.”

Ian teases and receives a middle finger in response.

“You need anything, you call me. Tommy don’t give a shit about me takin’ off early as long as I buy him a couple beers to make up for it so don’t worry about gettin’ me in trouble. Just call.”

Ian’s face softens and he nods

“I’ll be fine. I’m gonna get a few hours sleep and then hang out with Mandy.”

“Cool. Alright, I’ll see you later. I love you.”

“Love you too. Keep safe and don’t murder Alan.”

“Be doin’ the world a fuckin’ favour if I did, man.”

Mickey grins as the back door closes behind him. A few moments later the sound of his car starts up and headlights swing across the kitchen and then the sound fades as he drives down the street.

Mandy shakes herself and stands up, making a show of clearing her throat and clomping down the last few stairs.

“Hey!”

She smiles, rubbing her eyes for effect. Ian doesn’t seem any the wiser, he’s still got that dopey smile on his face from Mickey as he waves a hand in greeting

“Mornin’. How you feeling?”

“Sick.”

Mandy admits, helping herself to juice from the fridge

Ian makes a low humming noise at the back of his throat and nibbles his lip in excitement. This is the first time Mandy has made any comment that can even loosely be linked to her pregnancy since first telling him of it. Mickey has firmly forbidden him from bringing it up with her until she is ready to talk, but Ian has never been great at leaving things alone and unlike her brother, Mandy does often want to talk things through – she just needs a bit of a nudge.

“You mean, like morning sickness?”

Mandy hesitates and then nods.

“Yeah I think it must be. Kinda freaky huh?”

Ian shakes his head and pulls up the chair Mickey vacated, gesturing for her to sit.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Mandy sighs. She needs to make a decision but it feels too huge, too heavy. The father is long gone and thank God. She is safer for it and her child, if she dares to think of it as her child, is safer for it too.

She needs to try and find work but who will hire her? Most likely no one Mandy wants to work for.

Mickey and Ian have said nothing about rent or bills and both told her, in very different ways, not to worry about it when she has brought it up.

Maybe she does want to talk about it all, maybe she’s ready to.

“Aren’t you tired?”

Mandy asks taking in the slightly tired lines around his eyes.

“Not really.”

He shrugs. It’s true, he really isn’t tired and he has lodged that as the potential signifier of a manic episode on the brink but for now it’s actually useful so he just smiles and pours the rest of Mickey’s morning coffee between two mugs and hands one to his friend.

“Well … I guess the big question is whether or not I’m gonna keep it.”

Ian nods and sips his drink, desperately hoping his face looks neutral. Mickey has made it very clear, in that slightly formidable way he has when something is very important to him, that as far as Mandy is concerned, neither of them have any opinion on that issue one way or the other.

“The guy is a prick but most men are so I guess if I ever want to be a Mom, I just have to get over that.”

Mandy continues, absently winding a long strand of dark hair around her finger.

“Do you? Want to be a Mom?”

Ian asks, leaning back against the counter.

“I guess so. I mean, I like the idea of it. Not sure I’d be any good but I mean … well, shit! If even Mickey can manage a kid …”

“Hey!”

“Well you know what I mean! Would you have ever picked Mick for being a good dad?”

“Of course!”

Ian frowns at her but Mandy shrugs, unperturbed.

“Really?”

Mandy gives Ian a sceptical glance and Ian nods, folding his arms defensively

“Yeah. He’s always had a good heart and he’s loyal and takes care of the people he loves. He’s brilliant with Yevgeny.”

“Oh! Yeah, no, he is and I didn’t mean … It’s just I could never have seen him being like that.”

“Well I could. Just like I can see you being an awesome mom. You’re smart and kind and you’re crazy protective – you’d be brilliant.”

Mandy ducks her head, blushing at the compliment.

“This baby wouldn’t have a dad though. Just me.”

“But he or she will have two uncles who are basically dad’s. We’ll be there Mandy. Every step of the way. If you’re worried that you’d be alone, don’t be.”

“I don’t want to be a burden on you guys.”

“You won’t be. We’ll get a bigger place and you can stay with us while you save up for your own home.”

“You think Mickey would move just to help me out?”

“It was his idea actually.”

Mandy is quiet for a minute taking that information in and then she sighs and smiles gently at her friend.

“You want me to have it, huh?”

Ian draws a sharp breath, well and truly caught between the wills of two Milkovich’s. It is a little like being caught between a hungry tiger and a hungry lion and knowing that whichever way you turn, you’re lunch meat.

Might as well be honest lunch meat.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Me to.”

Mandy smiles and just like that the decision is made.

*

Mandy is frying hamburger in their huge old skillet when Mickey gets home. He sniffs appreciatively as he tugs his work boots off and rolls his shoulders. He’s been a labourer for a few months but his body is still adjusting to it and he is always stiff as Hell at the end of the day. He doesn’t mind the work and Tommy mostly leaves him alone to get on with it, but it has taken a while for him to adjust to having a legitimate job and not just coming and going as he pleases. Still, with Yev getting older and Ian working steadily, it was time to make the effort to go completely legit. Mickey has too much to lose now if a scam, heist, or deal were to go wrong.

Mandy glances over her shoulder at Mickey and watches him roll the kinks out of his neck. She is ridiculously glad he is home. Ian has only been gone a couple of hours but her head is too full of thoughts and helter-skelter emotions and Mandy really wants the company.

“Burgers will be ready in ten minutes, okay?”

“Thanks.”

“Beer?”

“Yeah.”

“Good day?”

“Yeah…. I mean Alan’s a prick and Jim’s a fuckin’ liability, the guy don’t even seem to know which end of a drill to hold, but I was down the other end of the yard so they mostly stayed out of my way. Anyway, how was your day? You see Ian before he left for work?”

“I told Ian I want to keep the baby.”

Her hand flies to her mouth as if trying to push the words back in but it’s too late and Mandy promptly bursts into tears. Mickey freezes, a cigarette half-way to his lips, unprepared for the sudden emotional shit-storm. For a wild moment he considers grabbing his boots and running away but that is always his first thought whenever Ian or Yev get upset too and just like with his boys, the moment passes and he stands up and places a hand on her arm, with a sympathetic noise.

“Hey, come on, sit down.”

“I’m sorry, shit, I’m really sorry.”

Mandy pats her face with the sleeve of her shirt and tries not to smudge what is left of her eye liner as Mickey awkwardly pats her back and gestures at the stove

“Go sit down, I can do this.”

Mickey goes to take the flipper out of her hand but Mandy shakes her head irritably, holding it out of his reach

“No, you’re filthy. Take a shower and I’ll finish up.”

Mickey gives her a concerned glance but does as she asks and heads to the bathroom, grabbing his cell on the way out. While the shower heats up Mickey fires a quick text to his boyfriend.

Mandys crying. Keeping baby. Thanks 4 the fuckin heads-up.

Oh shit! Is she upset cause I told her I think she should? She seemed ok before.

You did what??? WTF Ian?

Shit. She pissed at me? Really sorry Mick. Talk 2morow?

Damn right we will.

Ok. Sorry again. Love you.

LY2

Mickey scowls at the phone and purses his lips. He doesn’t want Mandy pressured into anything and he certainly doesn’t want Ian painting some happy picture of what being a parent is. It is hard fucking work and Mandy doesn’t have a job or a partner or any savings as far as Mickey can tell. A kid is going to complicate her life more than it already is and if that is what she wants … well fine. But no one is going to push her into it. Not even Ian.

He washes the dirt of the day from his body and hair and makes his way downstairs dressed in mostly clean jeans a passable long sleeved tee, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

“Hey.”

“Hey!”

Mandy smiles brightly at him but her eyes are red rimmed and Mickey frowns at her.

“You need to talk or somethin’?”

“It’s okay, Mickey. Besides your burger is getting cold.”

“Yeah well cold burger never killed anyone. Come on.”

He jerks his head toward the living room and walks off, leaving Mandy little choice but to follow.

Mickey sits on the edge of the sofa, legs spread wide taking up more physical space than he really needs and settling into it as if he is preparing for a fight.

“Ian’s got a big fuckin’ mouth.”

He snaps as Mandy settles beside him

“Don’t be mad at him…”

“I’ll be mad at whoever the fuck I want to be mad at. Havin’ a kid is hard fuckin’ work Mandy”

“You don’t think I can do it?”

The hurt in her voice is painfully obvious and Mickey runs a hand tersely through his hair.

“Course you can do it. And you’d be fine. But … you got options, alright?”

“Do you want me to have the baby?”

Mickey’s nostrils flare and he arches both brows at her in obvious irritation.

“What kind of dumb question is that?”

“Well … Ian said you guys would help out so you have to have some say in it, right?”

Mandy grimaces at how feeble that sounds as Mickey makes an exasperated gesture

“No, we don’t get any fuckin’ say in it. This is your life, your kid, you do whatever you gotta do. No one should be pushed into havin’ a kid they don’t want. Sometimes it works out and sometimes it don’t but it’s besides the point. You got a choice Mandy and no one is takin’ that away from you.”

“I do want this baby. I’m just scared, Mick. I’m really scared.”

Mandy reaches out on impulse and grips her brother’s hand. It’s something she would never have done before but times are very different now and he squeezes her fingers tightly in his own, his expression earnest and intense a way that makes Mandy smile despite her fluttering nerves.

“You don’t need to be scared. You got Ian, you got me,”

Mickey takes a breath and then lets it out quickly

“and we both want to take care of you, Mandy.”

Mandy gives a small shaky laugh and blinks rapidly, lifting her eyes to the ceiling fan

“What did Ian do to you?”

Mickey snorts and twitches his nose, slouching back into the sofa

“Fucked if I know.”

The siblings look across at each other and then away again, grinning.

“Poor Ian. He’s got two Milkovich’s already and now he’s gonna have four of us.”

Mickey chuckles and shakes his head

“Nah, he’ll just have four people fuckin’ swooning after him instead of two. He’ll be in his element.”

*

Ian edges the door open and closes it quietly behind him. His second night shift has wiped him out, he’s tired and irritable and worried about the scolding he is pretty damn certain is coming his way. He considers ignoring the scent of coffee already wafting from the kitchen and ignoring Mickey altogether until he’s had a chance to sleep, but that feels shitty so he braces his shoulders, drops his back by the sofa and wanders through.

Mickey looks up when Ian enters the room and his face softens from it’s usual morning scowl.

“Hey man.”

“Hey.”

Ian kisses the top of his head and sits down beside him, accepting the toast and pill box that Mickey slides across to him.

“How mad are you?”

Ian asks, munching his toast and popping his pills casually. Mickey smiles slightly to himself.

“Like a two out of ten.”

“Huh. You’re usually a three at this time in the morning.”

Ian quips back but gives Mickey a small knowing smirk which is returned and the matter of who said what is dropped.

Ian strokes Mickey’s morning hair back from his face

“I guess we have to start planning a move and sorting out all the paper work for that…”

“Hey, yeah about that. I … ah … I wanted to ask you somethin’ and I wanted to wait a bit but with a new house to buy and other shit to do … and like you say, we’re gonna have paperwork and …”

Mickey presses his lips together to stop himself rambling and locks eyes with Ian, who is gazing at him with fond amusement.

Mickey reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a small leather box and Ian’s eyes widen in shock.

Mickey sits up straighter and taps the box lid with one finger. He had thought to propose in July, but if anything, the last month has taught Mickey that life gets away from you pretty damn quickly and it can throw curve balls that can knock even the strongest rhythm into flux. If you have something you want to do, or something you need to say, you have to do it sooner because later is not fucking guaranteed. He nearly lost Ian, nearly lost his family and now there is a brand new life forming right under this very roof! Everything changes so fast … everything except how he feels about Ian. That has been a constant for a decade and Ian deserves to be shown how certain Mickey really is about him.

“I don’t know how to do this properly, but … uh … Ian, will you marry me?”

It isn’t poetic, but it is a bold and brave and more than Ian had ever really dared to hope to hear.

Mickey opens the box and reveals a wide silver band with a minute diamond set in the centre.

“I will. Jesus, Mick! Of course I will!”

Ian beams at him and the quiet beauty of the moment last for a few seconds more before he explodes out of the chair and throws himself into Mickey’s arms. The little chair tips back alarmingly but by some miracle doesn’t collapse beneath their combined weight. Ian cups Mickey’s face in his hands, staring at him as if he is some new and marvellous thing that Ian is seeing for the very first time.

“Holy shit, Mickey. We’re getting married!”

“Hell yes, we are! Gimmee your hand.”

The ring slips easily over Ian’s knuckle and settles perfectly beside the letter ‘U’ on Mickey’s own finger as they link their left hands together on the table top.


	18. Fuckin' Milkovichs/ Bachelor Party 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,
> 
> Sorry this update is late. I've had pretty grim writers block the last few days and it's been a bit of a struggle to get going again. Anyway, this chapter is a lot of dialogue but I hope you like it and it is setting up for a really fun chapter 19. 
> 
> Thank you as ever for reading, kudos, comments and generally making this fandom a cool place to be! 
> 
> Han xxx

Ian wanted to go down to the court house and get married immediately. Mickey wanted to save up for a few months and try to have a proper do. They compromised and set themselves a target of four weeks. It isn’t long enough to save but it’s long enough to plan a party, get a couple of things together and let Mickey feel like he is doing right by them.

Due to the time scale it it’s going to be a ‘cost-effective’ wedding which is Ian’s delicate way of saying that what with the time he had off to recover, the new house and putting food on the table for Mandy, they are (as Mickey put it less delicately) ‘poor as fuck’.

With that in mind Ian lets go of the fleeting idea of matching suits, matching gold bands and a mini-tux for Yev. Despite Mickey being the one who insisted on having an actual wedding, predictably it is Ian who takes over the wedding planning. However, Mickey takes more interest than anyone, including himself, expected him to and offers opinions on most things including the rings Ian is looking at on his battered old laptop. Side by side on the sofa, Ian is half focussed on browsing and half concentrating on fingering the in-seam of Mickey’s pants, enjoying the small noises of appreciation each movement earns him.

They’re on an online Gothic themed jewellery store that sells silver bands when Ian turns the screen round and doubtfully shows it to Mickey, he is instantly taken with a medium width band called ‘Blood and Bone’.

“Fuckin’ sweet name, man.”

“It’s part of their … eternally enslaved collection.”

Ian wrinkles his nose but Mickey just grins and grips the back of Ian’s neck tightly, leaning in to kiss him hard.

“Kinky. I like it. Get two of those.”

“You sure? I mean I like the style but the name …”

“It’s a kick-ass name. Better than ‘Happily ever after’ or some shit.”

Ian shrugs, happy that Mickey is happy and orders two rings for less than half the price of one traditional gold band.

“You sure you don’t mind it being silver? If you want gold …”

Mickey rubs the back of Ian’s neck lightly, his brows knitted

“Nah. Silver’s good. Gold doesn’t really suit your whole ‘Ice King’ look.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know: black hair, pale skin, blue eyes, black clothes…”

Ian breaks off realising that he is getting The Annoyed Tongue as Mickey’s eyebrows raise and a bulge forms in his left cheek.

“It’s sexy, Mick.”

“Sounds fuckin’ weird. I got different colour clothes.”

“Yes you do.”

Ian agrees. He knows from experience that agreeing is the way to end this discussion swiftly and that a swift resolution is for the best. Mickey lights a smoke and eyes him suspiciously but lets it drop as Mandy wanders in, yawning.

“What’s up?”

“Ordering rings.”

Ian grins and sits back to let Mandy have a look at them on screen as she leans over the back of the sofa.

“Sweet name!”

She exclaims happily and Mickey gives Ian a smug look which earns him a cheerful middle finger.

“Oh hey, I gotta ask you something”

Mickey says, craning his neck to look up at his sister who is eyeing his cigarette wistfully

“Yeah? What?”

“Don’t sound so fuckin’ suspicious.”

Mickey scowls and Mandy rolls her eyes, walking round and dropping herself dramatically into his lap and breathing in the heady smell of tobacco.

“What the f…”

Mickey leans back in his seat, scowl deepening as Mandy grins up at him and flicks his chin.

“Can’t shove me, I’m pregnant.”

“Wanna fuckin’ bet? Move your ass!”

Mandy stands up and ruffles her big brothers hair affectionately

“Okay dicksplash, what did you want to ask?”

“No forget it.”

Mickey grouches, smoothing his hair back down but Ian gives him a swift kick and opens his eyes wide, prompting him.

“What?”

Mandy’s interest is piqued and she glances between the two of them impatiently

“I was gonna ask if you … if you wanna be my best man.”

Mickey looks up from under shyly lowered brows and Mandy’s face softens into a sweet little smile

“Really? You’d really pick me?”

“Well apparently I can’t pick Ian,”

Mickey shrugs, shooting his fiancé a slightly dirty look, still not over Ian’s rebuff of that particular request. 

“So yeah. I guess I pick you.”

“Awww Mickey…”

Mandy wraps her arms tightly around him from behind and Mickey suffers the squeeze as well as he can, awkwardly patting the forearm locked around his throat.

“You wanna do it or not?”

“Of course I do! This is gonna be so great!”

Mandy releases her death grip and kisses the top of his head.

“I’m going to start planning your bachelor party right now!”

She kisses him again, and then looks at Ian

“Who is your best man?”

“Lip.”

He looks almost apologetic but Mandy just shrugs, chin held high.

“Great. Mick, who do you want at your party?”

“I don’t know … you and Iggy? Maybe Svet?”

Mickey gives her his usual impatient glance and Mandy nods. To be honest, she really isn’t sure who else she would invite. Her brother has never really had friends and the only person he really likes hanging out with is Ian. So it’s going to be small, fine, that doesn’t mean it won’t be wild. Mandy grins at him and does a double thumbs up

“It’s going to be awesome. I’m on it!”

“Can’t wait.”

Mickey drawls but both Ian and Mandy see the little excited twinkle in his eye and share a knowing glance. Fuckin’ Milkovichs.

*

Lip draws on his cigarette and eyes his little brother frankly. They’re in a booth at the Alibi although neither of them is drinking anything stronger than soda. They could go somewhere else, Lip almost definitely should but it’s familiar and they’re both comfortable so they stay.

“I’m not inviting Mickey.”

“I know.”

Ian nods but Lip holds up a stern finge

“I mean it, Ian. He’s not coming.”

“Jesus! Okay … wait, why?”

“Because I want to get some seven foot Adonis to wiggle his balls in your face without having to cough up bail money for your fiance.”

Ian rolls his eyes and grins, sipping his cola and running the cool glass between his fingers ignoring his brother’s lewd grin.

“A stripper? Really?”

“Yes. A stripper. At a Gay club and the only reason I’m telling you this is because I need to know which ones you worked at so I can avoid them.”

“Uh … I never worked at Heavy Load or Jack Hammer.”

Ian blushes slightly realising that those are two of the only clubs he hasn’t pulled a shift or two at. Lip taps the names into his phone and nods.

“Cool. So now, are you sure you want to join the ranks of the indoctrinated married folks of this fair land?”

“I am. It’ll be good for us.”

Ian fiddles with the label on his jacket sleeve and it is Lip’s turn to roll his eyes

“You’ve loved him for your whole fucking life. How does a piece of paper…”

“You’re being a shitty best man, I just want you to know that.”

Lip grins his usual sardonic little grin and shrugs.

“So are you becoming a Mil…”

He bites the question off and clears his throat guiltily

“Sorry, man. Stupid question.”

“No it’s not stupid.”

Ian frowns. He has no intention of taking Terry’s family name but isn’t sure how to bring it up with Mickey.

“We haven’t actually talked about it.”

He admits finally.

“Mickey Gallagher works fine. Sounds about as Irish as it gets.”

Lip jokes and Ian’s frown clears at the thought of Mickey being a Gallagher.

“I guess I could ask him, see what he says.”

“Yeah you should. We got a an ex-con landlord, an alcoholic genius, a bipolar queer, a teen mom, an juvie kid turned military, and a black kid with two white parents. We got room for a …”

“Whatever you’re about to call my fiancé, massively fuck you, Lip.”

Ian dips his finger in his cola and flicks it at his big brother.

“Seriously though, I’m really happy. I want this, man.”

Ian is radiating so much happiness that Lip wants to tell him he’s a fricken’ beacon and there really isn’t any need to tell anyone but what he says instead is simply:

“I know.”

“And I want you to be better with Mickey.”

“We do fine together. We had a coffee that time…”

Lip grimaces at how feeble that sounds. One coffee in ten years of knowing the guy. Ouch.

“You pick on him and you press his buttons …”

“Dude! Come on. Mickey is like a human fucking calculator! He’s 99% buttons.”

“And he’s good at math too.”

Ian smiles smugly as Lip sighs impatiently and taps his finger on the vaguely sticky table top.

“I guess I could tease him a little less.”

“And I want you to say something nice about him in your speech.”

Ian finishes his mental list of demands and sits back contentedly. Lip raises his eyebrows at his little brother and sits back in his chair.

“You’re turning into a proper groomzilla.”

“I know. But do it anyway.”

It’s going to be far too much effort to bicker so instead they clink glasses and Lip wonders if his imminent brother in law has had a similar talk. From Ian’s moony-eyed expression, he kind of doubts it. Fuckin’ Milkovichs.

*

 

The bachelor parties are scheduled for a week before the wedding to allow sufficient time for hangovers to clear up, bruises to heal and any other shenanigans to blow over. Mickey had not really known what to expect, and thus gone with his life time habit of not expecting much. 

 

However, now as he is stumbling along the street from where the taxi dropped them off, Mickey realises he’s had a fucking excellent day. Mandy took him and Iggy to a new shooting range with the fancy moving targets and he finally got to try firing a Kriss Vector, something he’s wanted to do for years. After that he and Iggy smoked a whole bunch of pot, out the car window and got Taco Bell drive through, something Ian never lets him do, and then they just started drinking and catching up back at the house.

It’s been years since he spent so much time with his siblings and truth be told Mickey was a little nervous about it but it’s been more than just alright. They shot shit, ate shit, smoked shit and talked shit. It’s been one of the best days he has had in quite a while and the night is only just getting started.

He is already a little wasted. Ian and his posse came to the house for a few drinks before both parties headed off in their separate directions. Mickey likes the Gallagher’s a lot more once he’s had a few drinks and actually had a pretty decent time.

The topper was when Ian had dragged him off to the bedroom before they left for the night. Ian had called it marking his territory in that breathy, deep voice that always gets Mickey going and yanked Mickey’s pants down hard enough to chafe his thighs.

The slightly possessive jealousy that inspired the action pleased Mickey almost more than the actual blowjob. Ian doesn’t normally get jealous … probably because Mickey doesn’t let anyone else so much as look at him without confrontation but whatever! It was fucking great! 

 

As he lurches from one side of the street to the other, Mickey loops his arms around each of his siblings.

“You guys are fuckin’ awesome, you know that?”

“Oh shit! Mick, you look trashed!”

Mandy laughs with a grimace and stops to try and smooth her brother’s hair a bit

“Yeh, I think I am.”

Mickey’s grin is wide and a little goofy as Iggy peers round to look at him.

“Ha! Little brother, you’re gonna pass out soon if you don’t slow down.”

Iggy hasn’t called Mickey ‘little brother’ for over fifteen years, not since they were kids and Mickey drunkenly grips the back of the thickly muscled neck in his hand, pressing a fierce kiss to Iggy’s cheek.

“You got anything to sober me up a little?”

“Until we get where we’re goin’ all I got is time, bro.”

For some reason, in Iggy’s slow South Side drawl, this little bit of accidental pseudo philosophy cracks Mickey up and he laughs until his legs won’t hold him and he has to sit down on the curb. Mandy is cackling too but Svet, is trying to hold herself together. Throughout their marriage, if Mickey found something funny, Svetlana did her best not to, and he supposes old habits die hard. Mickey glances at his gang of revellers and is about to tell them something about being glad they came out for his party when the laughter jiggles him a bit too much and with a convulsive shudder, he throws up.

The spray of beer, Jack Daniels, and home-brew vodka that Svet made erupts in a surprisingly neat arc straight into the gutter. Mickey looks down at his shirt to check and wipes the back of his hand over his mouth with a shaky laugh

“Shit. That was lucky!”

Svetlana tuts and steps forward, squatting in front of him in her stiletto heeled boots and producing a little packet of wet wipes and a bottle of water from her purse.

“Swill and spit. The you take a mint.”

She rattles a tiny metal tin at him and proceeds to wipe his free hand with a towelette.

“What the fuck, Svet? Why do you even have this shit?”

Mickey surrenders his other hand and accepts the tongue cluck his limp digits earn him as Svetlana cleans him up.

“Because your son is as messy as you are. I always thought it was bad parenting, turns out it is genetic. This is good news for me.”

“Nah, he’s a great kid. Nothin’ bad about him at all.”

Mickey shakes his head with a proud, one sided smile that creates a dimple in is left cheek.

“I’ll remind you of that when you’re sober.”

Svetlana smiles and offers him a hand up.

“Where are we goin’ anyway?”

Mickey asks and Mandy gives him a sly look from beneath heavily mascaraed eyelashes.

“A gay bar.”

“What?”

Mickey’s eyes flare wide and flick toward Iggy, his shoulders tensing involuntarily

“Yep, Mandy picked the place so if it’s not your scene, that’s on her!”

Iggy swigs out of his beer can and offers the rest to Mickey who takes it, still not fully processing what is going on.

“You’re comin’ to an actual gay club? You know you can’t fag bash in those, man.”

“Don’t be retarded, I haven’t done that shit in years. Didn’t feel right what with you being a queer and all.”

Iggy shrugs and grins mischievously at his little brother

“Besides, I looked this shit up online. I’m either a ‘Slim-Bear’ or a ‘cub’ and either way they’re two of the good types of gay to be. I might get laid.”

“Wha…”

Mickey looks around to make sure the others have just heard what he has but before he can question Iggy further, his brother is continuing, warming to his theme

“Ian’s a Jock now. He used to be a Twink but …”

“Hey! Don’t fuckin’ call him that!”

Mickey snaps, but Svetlana interjects with a shrug

“No it is true, he would have been classed as a Twink before but now, definitely Jock.”

“I don’t … what that fuck are you talkin’ about?”

Mickey sips his beer and rubs a hand over his forehead in confusion.

“Types of Gay men, Mick.”

Mandy smiles, and links her arm through his.

“It’s bullshit really. Kind of like horoscopes of something.”

Mickey chews on his lip and glances at Iggy

“So … like … everyone has one, huh?”

“Pretty much. You wanna know yours?”

“No… Yeah … Okay…”

Mickey pauses in his stride and stands up to his full height, puffing his chest out and lifting his chin as if he is about to pass or fail a crucial life test. Iggy considers with a squinting scowl that earns him a ‘what the fuck’ sneer from his brother.

“You’re a Cub, but a specific type, you’re Discreet Cub”

“No! He’s a Wolf!”

Svetlana shakes her head at Iggy who frowns and tips his head, considering Mickey again

“No … not hairy enough.”

“But he is too aggressive to be a Cub.”

“Well he’s clearly a Power Bottom. They sit more in with Cubs. Mick, you’re bossy in bed, right?”

“Excuse me? What the fuck did you just …”

Mickey begins but Svetlana waves him off and speaks over him

“Oh, most definitely a PB. But a Cub? No.”

Mickey is doing his best not to act in anyway that might mean he gets bumped to something less than satisfactory but the assessment is taking a bit too long and he can feel his patience slipping.

“Which one’s better?”

He asks irritably and then noticing that he is posing in the street, shakes himself off and keeps walking.

Svet smiles triumphantly and gestures to Mickey’s slightly wide-legged stance

“See! He even walks aggressive. Like cowboy. Like Wolf!”

“Yeah, yeah that is true. Okay, Wolf.”

Iggy nods as Mickey looks to Mandy for confirmation and she nods sagely with a reassuring wink

“You want to be a Wolf, they’re badass.”

Mickey smiles a little and rubs the edge of his nose. The whole conversation was weird as fuck and he’s not entirely sure why he let it happen but it turns out he is the bad-ass kind of Gay dude so that’s something. He glances round at the them all again and grins to himself. Fuckin’ Milkovichs.


	19. Fuckin' Milkovichs/ Bachelor Party 2

Mandy and Svet are God damn pros. Mandy somehow finds a free booth and whilst Svet slides through the crowd to get to the bar, neither of them missing a beat.

“Right. Hold this booth, do not let anyone steal it.”

Mandy orders her big brother’s, shouting to be heard over the music.

They both nod and sit on either side of the glitter covered table. It is something of a shame that no one in the Milkovich family ever took an interest in football because they would have made incredible defence linesmen. No one would get past them and the few people that try and gesture to the empty seats in the booth they have claimed are quickly dispersed. Iggy lounges back in his chair and gives Mickey a considering look that instantly makes Mickey squirm.

“What?”

“When did you know you were gay?”

It’s an unexpected question and Mickey sucks his lower lip, wondering how best to answer and whether to answer at all. Ordinarily he’d tell Iggy to mind his own fuckin’ business but he’s in an unusually good mood and his brother coming to a club like this … well, Mickey is a little touched by the gesture. Especially after everything that has happened lately.

“I didn’t. Not til Ian.”

“Seriously? You never looked at any other dude and thought ‘Fuck yeah I’d hit that … whoah! I’m a fag!” 

“Fuck off!”

Mickey shakes his head grinning, middle finger raised to his brother’s face.

“Nah man, I tried hard not to look at anyone or anything. Figured if I ignored it, it’d go away, you know?”

Iggy nods, accepting this as just another odd quirk about his little bro. Iggy isn’t someone who thinks about things too deeply. Not because he can’t, it’s just that he prefers not to. Some people, like Mickey, seem to over think every little thing and get worried about shit easily. Iggy doesn’t get that sort of concern. He often wants to shake his brother and say ‘Man, who the fuck even cares?’. Looking over at him now, Iggy realises that his question has sparked off one of those weird thought spirals Mickey gets and decides to cut it short.

“Hey, Mick?”

“Yeah?”

“You ever look at my dick?”

“Ew! Fuck you!”

Mickey laughs, rolling his eyes and wishing Mandy and Svet would hurry up. Mission accomplished, Iggy grins and waits for his beer to show up.

*

On the other side of the room Ian is waiting for his own beer. Debbie went ages ago and Fiona’s hip flask is running dangerously low. Kev and V haven’t touched theirs yet but at this rate they’re going to be buying all their drinks before midnight.

“What’s with the frown?”

Fi leans over and kisses the crease between Ian’s brows.

“Nothing, just … thirsty!”

Ian winces as the word leaves his lips, it is one of many, many words which earn him shots. Thirsty, hung, ball, wood … the list is pretty endless and sure enough Fi, V and Lip start drum rolling on the table as Kev lines him up a sly shot glass of smuggled vodka.

“Fuck! Guys, I’m never gonna make it through the night.”

Ian shuddered as the alcohol coursed through his system. His head felt light and the bright lights of the club seemed to pulse in time with the music, which there was a damn good chance they were. Everything felt too close, not in a bad way, but he’d have felt better if Mickey was there. Lip wasn’t wrong when he teased that Mickey was like a guard dog when it came to Ian, he had been for years really. Since the early days when Ian started working at the White Swallow, Mickey always showed up and watched for trouble. He guarded Ian with a loyalty that Ian had never known from anyone else and now, without Mickey there, the club feels too big, too loud.

“I need to dance!”

He declared suddenly and stood up. He was not going to act like a needy little bitch on his own bachelor party. Mickey was probably out at a dive bar having a great time and Ian would do the same.

Fiona grabbed his left hand, V grabbed his right and together they swayed drunkenly onto the dance floor. Ian felt better as soon as he began to move. It was like poetry, his body responded to the music and took him along with it and his anxieties began to vanish into the rhythms.

“Oh fuck!”

Fiona laughs and Ian grins hazily at her

“What?”

“Your fiance is here!”

“Mickey?”

Ian can’t help the hopeful note that enters his voice and V gives him a curious look

“You got more than one?”

Ian shoves her arm playfully and his eyes follow Fiona’s discreet point. Sure enough, there is a little gaggle of Milkovich’s at a booth on the other side of the dance floor.

“Challenge them to a dance off?”

“Oh shit! West Side Story rumble!”

Fiona screams excitedly

“Bitch, you crazy? I ain’t takin’ on no damn Milkovich in a knife fight! Little fuckers were probably born cradlin’ a blade!”

V shrieks and then flaps an apologetic hand at the wide eyed look Ian gives her

“You know what I mean!”

“Mhmm.”

Ian gives her one more disapproving glance and then looks back to Mickey’s table with a little smile. He had no idea that Mandy was going to bring him to a Gay bar and the fact that Iggy is here too will mean a lot to Mickey, even if he isn’t letting on.

“You want to go say hi?”

“No.”

Ian shakes his head, he isn’t being conceited but he knows that Mickey will gravitate towards him once he knows they are both in the same club. He won’t be able to help himself. Ian knows this because it is exactly what he is feeling at this moment and he thinks of all the times Mickey has watched him in clubs and smiles at the thought of quietly watching over Mickey for a change.

*

Mandy and Svetlana disappear off to the ladies room and Iggy disappears into the cloud of dry ice. Mickey sighs in contentment at the moment of solitude. He checks his phone and sees a message from Ian.

I: Have a great night Sexy.

Mickey smirks and types back quickly

M:U too. Missing ur ass.

Three little dots signifying Ian typing back appear almost immediately and Mickey smiles to himself, pleased that Ian is wanting to talk to him, even on his big night out.

I: Miss urs more. What u doing?

M: Waiting 4 drinks. In Boystown w/ Iggy!!!!

I: No way!? Thats cool of him! Having fun?

M: Yeah. Better if you were here.

I: <3

Mickey hesitates, glances over his shoulder self-consciously and then sends back

M: <3 <3

He puts his phone back in his pocket and drums his fingers on the table top. His earlier level of drunkenness is creeping back up and he realises that he’s got a raging boner pressing against his zipper just at the thought of his fiance.

“Jesus Christ.”

Mickey mutters, spreading his legs, letting his hand casually hang down to cover himself and tries to think of things to distract his stupid dick from its hopeless mission. Looking around he sees a couple of redhead lovers making out and hastily squeezes his eyes shut tight. That ain’t gonna help. Mickey studies his hands for a moment and glances up hoping to see Mandy coming back with more beers, instead he sees Svetlana making out with some chick with a buzz cut and a short leather skirt. Svetlana is grinding up against the woman and rocking her hips suggestively in time with the music.

“Oh thank fuck!”

Mickey sighs in relief and watches them kiss until his body is completely back under his control. He wonders how pissed Svetlana would be to know that he just used her to lose an erection he didn’t want. The thought makes him grin and he practically cackles in delight at the thought of telling her next time she annoys him. Tonight is awesome! 

Iggy reappears a few minutes later with glow sticks, a tub of florescent body paint and missing his shirt. At Mickey’s questioning frown, Iggy waves the tub at him happily

“Traded it for this! Paint me up, bro!”

Mickey takes the little tub of pink paint and curls his lip disdainfully as Iggy puffs out his chest, hands on hips.

“You traded a shirt for this shit?”

“Everyone’s wearing it! Do me, then do you.”

“Pink ain’t my colour man.”

Mickey shakes his head and dips his finger into the paint.

“Yeah well it’s gonna be mine! Make it all trippy and shit, like swirls and stuff …”

“Uh huh…”

Mickey nods and helps Iggy do a few swirls and dots. The stuff does actually look pretty fricken’ sweet when it dries. Iggy dips his index fingers into the tub and swipes the paint in two high stripes beneath his eyes.

“Do my back!”

Iggy orders and Mickey tongues his lip impatiently. He dabs a few more swirls onto Iggy’s broad back and then gets bored.

“I can feel you slowing down! Just do something fuckin’ big and stop being a bitch.”

Iggy grins over his shoulder and Mickey’s eyebrows touch his hairline and he is about to shove the paint back into Iggy’s hands and tell him to paint his sweaty, gross back himself when he gets a better idea.

“Okay, done.”

Mickey nods and claps Iggy’s shoulder

“Cool! Okay I’m gonna go score us some more coke. Back in a bit.”

Mickey nods and watches Iggy navigate through the crowd, a giant, glowing pink cock running up his spine and erupting in a shower of swirling pink jizz at the base of his neck.

*

Mandy does a double take as Iggy weaves past her. Laughing, she wonders who the hell did that to him until she sees Mickey using his front camera to dab awkwardly at his face with the same paint.

“Hey! Picasso! Iggy’s gonna kill you!”

She yells, putting down the drinks. Mickey answers her with a wide cheeky grin and hands her the paint pot.

“Can you do me?”

“Cock or no cock?”

“Bitch, if you paint a dick on me …”

Mandy waves off the last of the unfinished threat with a giggle and gestures for Mickey to sit.

“Check you out getting into your party!”

“Yeah. Thanks by the way.”

“No problem.”

Mandy is utterly relieved that Mickey is having a good time. Neither of them have ever had a birthday party or anything like this before and she just wanted it to be right for him.

“Have you seen Svet?”

“Muff diving a skin head.”

Mandy rolls her eyes but it doesn’t really matter. Mickey and Svetlana get on okay but she knows Mickey isn’t really going to care whether she actually hangs out with them or not. It’s enough that she came.

“Iggy’s getting some coke.”

“Cool! I’ll stick with my version!”

Mandy lifts her cola bottle and winks at her brother who grimaces

“Sure you don’t want me to find the fucker who knocked you up and knock his teeth out?”

He yells over the music and Mandy scrunches his hair in mock annoyance before smoothing it back.

“I’m getting you a dance!”

“What?”

“I’m getting you a DANCE!”

“No … Hey! Mand … Fuck!”

Mickey watches her go with mounting horror. He’s pretty fucking trashed but he’s not that trashed, not even close and Mickey realises that the only way to avoid having some Twinks junk shoved in his face is to disappear. He can see the tip of a familiar fluorescent penis a few paces away and lunges, grabbing Iggy’s arm and dragging him into the booth.

“You’re getting a dance! Don’t fuckin’ move!”

“Right on! I want a Bear! Get me a big guy!”

Iggy spreads his arms welcomingly and Mickey takes his opportunity to run.

*

Ian watches as Mickey darts into the crowd and tried to follow his movements but the smaller man is quickly swallowed in the throbbing mass of dancers. He wants to follow but Lip is pulling at his sleeve and Ian allows his eyes to turn reluctantly to his brother.

“Your present is here!”

“My what?”

“Your present! Your stripper!”

“Oh fuck!”

Ian rolls his eyes but grins lopsidedly as Lip and Kev push and pull him back onto a couch. Ian looks around for the college kid trying to earn some extra cash. All of a sudden, two powerful thighs are straddling Ian’s lap and he looks up at the beautifully built man above him.

“Hey babe. I’m Steve!”

“Ian!”

Lip answers for his brother who is struck momentarily speechless. The guy is built like a boxer, maybe thirty-five years old, with dark eyes and a shock of jet black hair swept back. He has tattoos up his arms and when he turns around, there is another peeking out of the sequin trunks. Ian closes his eyes and tries to guess what the illustration on the perfect, muscular ass might be.

V, Fiona and Debbie are all cheering and Kev is watching with a calculating fascination but all Ian can do is grip the faux leather seat pat beneath his thighs and pray that he doesn’t humiliate himself entirely.

“You can touch if you want to, beautiful.”

Steve’s voice is soft, but not South Side – not even Chicago. He sounds Southern or certainly heading towards that way. Ian shakes his head softly

“It’s my bachelor party.”

Steve gives him a nod of understanding and Ian settles back to watch him, feeling better about the whole thing. Once upon a time he would have loved this, but at best all he can say is that he doesn’t really mind it. Maybe it is all the horrible shit that has gone down the last few weeks, maybe it is just that he is truly committed to Mickey and their relationship now, but whatever it is, Ian doesn’t really want anything that Steve has to offer. Yes, he is gorgeous (Ian had heard Lip say something about being ‘like a tonk version of Mickey’) but he wasn’t Mickey and so Ian just didn’t have that much interest.

All the same, he tips heavily and grins lasciviously at all around him as if he has just had the treat of his life.

“Wanna ride the bull next?”

Lip asks, nodding toward one of the back rooms and Ian shrugs. He’s heard of the famous mechanical bull of boys town, a way to show off your wears all in the name of ‘good fun’ and most who ride it are looking for something more than a round of applause. On the other hand, it’s his party and Steve has hashed his buzz a little, so Ian figures he could do with livening up and he’s pretty sure he’ll look hot as Hell on it and if Mickey happens to see then maybe they can sneak off after …

“Sure! Why not?”

He grins and hops on Lip’s back pointing dramatically onward

“Let’s go!”

He glances around for Mickey as he makes his way through the crowd and at one point swears he sees a guy wearing Mickey’s shirt but tells himself not to be ridiculous – plenty of guys wear button downs like that, it doesn’t mean it’s Mickeys.

“Holy fuck!”

Lip stops so suddenly Ian walks into the back of him with a soft thud. He is about to ask what is going on when he sees what it was that caused Lip’s freeze.

Beneath the pulsing blue and white lights, hips writhing and hands locked behind his head, Mickey Milkovich is riding the bull.

He isn’t just riding it.

He. Is. Riding. IT.

Ian feels his dick leap in his pants, so startling in it’s immediacy that it actually makes him gasp. He has never seen his boyfriend look so fucking sexy.

His teeth are set in his lip in concentration and his eyes are closed, biceps bulging out of a sleeveless Hawaiian shirt that he definitely did not own when the night started.

“What is it with him and those shirts?”

Lip yells over the music and although it is a question Ian would also like an answer too, his mouth is far too dry to try and speak. Mickey’s got body paint across his face, chest and arms in a series of neat patterns that make it look like his is glowing from within and in a way, that is exactly what he is doing.

Ian’s eyes trail down Mickey’s body, to his hips which are moving in ways that make Ian swear that first thing in the morning he is buying a full length mirror for their room and setting it up next to the bed. And further down, to his thighs, each thick with muscle gripping the plastic sides of the bull with a force that has several nearby men palming their pants and looking very, very fucking interested in just how much static force those isometrics can create. Even Lip is looking grudgingly impressed.

“I can see why you look so happy sometimes.”

He yells up at Ian who thumps him playfully on the arm.

Ian is about to say something back when a movement catches his eyes and a tall, built, red-head dashes across the padded area around the bull and leap frogs up behind Mickey, wrapping his hands around is waist and moving in perfect rhythm.

“Oh fuck!”

Ian looks round wildly for a bouncer, Mickey is having an amazing night and some asshole is about to ruin it by pissing him off and getting the shit kicked out of his grabby ass.

“Lip, do something! Mickey’s gonna fuckin’ kill that prick!”

Ian cries but Lip shakes his head and nods back to the bull.

“Seems okay to me.”

Ian whirls back to face the bull and jealousy floods his mind. Mickey is not beating the shit out of the guy, he’s leaning back into him, a small smirk on his lips and letting the guy bend him forward slightly …

Ian is moving before he has fully realised what he is about to do. He yanks the redhead off and his fist connects with fashionably stubbled jaw sending him sprawling backwards. He is dimly aware of Mickey calling his name, Lip pulling at his arms and the leap-frogger trying to crawl away but more than anything, Ian is aware that someone was trying to violate what is his.

“IAN!”

Tattooed fingers grip the fabric of his shirt and push him backwards, Ian’s heel catches on one of the safety mats and they crash over backwards together. Mickey lands on Ian’s chest with a soft ‘OOF!’ and Ian wraps his arms around him tightly.

“You’re okay. You’re okay Mick.”

He mumbles into the dark hair beneath his lips, squeezing Mickey’s arms as he slowly comes back into himself and the room around him.

“I know I am! What the fuck you playing at?”

Mickey pushes himself upright and runs a hand through his hair, looking around them. No one is staring, fights are not uncommon, and Lip seems to be smoothing things over with the security guard. The would-be suitor seems to have dragged himself away to lick his wounds or find someone to lick them for him and even the bull is still.

“What the fuck was that?”

“He was touching you and then he bent you forward like …”

Ian shakes his head and presses his lips together.

“Hey. Hey fuck it man, it’s okay. I wasn’t in any trouble but its nice to know you got my back.”

Mickey lifts his lips in a small smirk and ruffles Ian’s hair.

“I’m sorry I spoiled it for you. Jesus. You looked really hot too.”

“What?”

“You looked really …”

The music swells as Ian wrinkles his nose in annoyance.

“BATHROOM?”

He bellows and Mickey nods, offering him a hand up.

*

The bathroom wasn’t much quieter but once Ian had them walled inside one of the tiny cubicles, the outside world felt at least a little muffled.

“You okay?”

Mickey asks as soon and Ian sits down on the toilet seat and pulls Mickey onto his lap, burying his head in the shorter man’s chest. He laughs a little at the question. So typical of Mickey to worry about Ian first.

“Yeah. Fuck. I’m so sorry, Mick.”

“Don’t worry about it. He had about two inches left of wandering hands before I did it myself.”

Mickey grins and kisses the top of Ian’s head.

“Did you enjoy your dance from that gorilla guy?”

“You saw that?”

Mickey raises an eyebrow

“I saw the beginning of it but uh … I’m kind of jealous. Figured it’d be best if I didn’t stick around.”

Ian laughs and rolls his eyes

“Turns out I’m a jealous fucker too.”

“Comes from a good place, man. You sure you’re okay?”

Ian nods. He doesn’t want to get into the weird feeling that crept over him so suddenly when that guy was manhandling Mickey but somehow he knows that Mickey gets it. Even calling it a good place, when they both know there was probably a lot of dark shit at play. That’s the thing with Mickey and Ian, when one of them is lost, the other one always gets it.

“You wanna go dance?”  
“You serious? Mickey Milkovich asking me to dance in a club?”

“Alright. Fuck you, go dance by yourself…”

Mickey pretends to get up and Ian tugs him down with a noise of distress.

“Hang on! First you need to tell me where you got that shirt.”

Mickey grins cheekily and thumbs his bottom lip

“Arm wrestled for it.”

“Why?”

Ian laughs

“Cause it’s sexy and I like the colours.”

“Fuckin’ weirdo.”

Ian kisses Mickey, both of them smiling into the warmth of it.

After a minute Mickey gets off Ian’s lap, dropping to his knees and working at the belt buckle holding up Ian’s pants.

“Fuck dancing. I can think of something better to do …”


End file.
